


Tell Me it's Real

by Windsofwinter



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: All the Starks Love Each Other, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon Compliant, Canon Has Left The Chat, Discussions of Past Abuse, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Tropes, F/F, Slow Burn, They Are Safe Though I Promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-01-15 01:46:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 53,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18488773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windsofwinter/pseuds/Windsofwinter
Summary: "But I am yours, and you are mine, in all the ways that matter."Daenerys and Sansa meet and realize even in the harshest winter and merciless game, love can bloom.





	1. First Impressions

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story has been sitting on my computer since 2017, I swore I was only writing it for myself, but I love the daensa fandom so…I thought I’d give posting this a shot? (Also, a celebration for our girls finally meeting.)
> 
> I abandoned the fic and rediscovered it early this year I’m trying to finish it and write improvements as I go, its currently up to around 40,000 words (so it counts as slow burn I guess?.)
> 
> It’s going to be unbeta-d and romance writing isn’t my strongest point, but I think I’m getting better. 
> 
> Some housekeeping: this is canon up until 7x06, so Littlefinger is alive, no boat sex (I honestly just didn’t want to deal with writing myself around that, this is a no incest fic.) and Jon did not bend the knee. 
> 
> The fic title is from the song “tell me its real” by Seafret as it just gives me Daensa vibes.

Sansa paced her chambers restlessly, the so-called dragon queen arrives later today, and to say She was nervous was an understatement.

 

The Queen’s reputation proceeded her; tales of conquest, dragons and eating a horse’s heart was enough to make Sansa shudder. She was driven by her desire for the throne, Sansa knew all too well what lust for power could do to a person; and yet there was also tales of kindness as Jon wouldn’t cease to remind her.

 

“She outlawed slavery and saved thousands of people Sansa; I do not see the need for your objections.” Jon sighed from his spot seated behind a table near Sansa’s pacing, his fingers massaging his temples.

 

“So, I’m meant to bow down to her with no reservations because she upheld common morals seen throughout Westeros for years?” Sansa fired back annoyed.

 

Honestly, she admired the dragon queen for it, but Jon’s constant raving had irritated her. 

 

Her patience had all but gone.  

 

He had returned from Dragonstone the day before claiming major success as the Queen had agreed to visit, since then all they had discussed had been Daenerys. 

 

The siblings had grown tired hours ago, but both were too stubborn to relent. Jon knew Sansa’s proposal of caution wasn’t a foolish one, just as he was sure Sansa was aware of the tactical advantage dragons would give them in the war ahead; however, they needed to present a united front and bickering over semantics wasn’t helping.

 

“She’s nothing like Cersei, I wouldn’t allow her here if she was.” Jon softened his voice in an attempt to calm his sister’s worries, but her pacing did not cease.

 

“She wants the throne, that is all the information you should need to tell you how similar they are.” Sansa stopped for a moment to observe the falling snow and setting sun, the queen would surely arrive soon, and they were no closer to an agreement of approach.

 

“To help people!” he snaps, before regaining his composure. “She wants the throne so she can help people, just like she helped those former slaves and why she’s offering her help to us now, because she’s nothing like Cersei Lannister.” Jon rose quickly and stood before his sister keeping a distance sensing she was vexed enough already. “I know you’re worried, and I’m not saying we should bend the knee, but open hostility will get us nowhere, I wish we didn’t need any help, but we do, and the help she’s offering cannot be found elsewhere.” He sighs and runs a hand over his face. “I should have trusted you before, we needed help to take back our home and you were the only one who saw that, I need to do better this time; I’m just asking you to trust me.” Jon finished with another sigh and carefully placed her hand on his sister’s arm and squeezed with gentle reassurance.

 

Sansa eyes his hand, still unsure before she sighs.

 

“I trust you Jon.”

 

* * *

 

 

The queen did arrive shortly after the pair had departed from their informal meeting in Sansa’s chambers.

 

The first thing Sansa noticed about the queen when she arrived on dragonback was the lack of guards or advisors, it made her question whether she was like Cersei at all; as the southern queen would never be so foolish as to enter new territory where her historic enemies lay with no army; but upon seeing the dragon up close all her reservations were blown away.

 

No, she was no fool, the presence of the dragon alone was enough to silence the previously protesting northern lords, a few of them even looked as if they were ready to bow. The majestic creature even shook Sansa to her core, the moonlight rippled of the dragon’s scales and ice melted around it as it landed.

 

The next thing Sansa noticed was the queen’s clothes, or lack of, her arms and shoulders were completely exposed to the harsh winter weather; which again, seemed ridiculous to Sansa. The dragon may protect her from attack, but does she plan on relying on it for warmth also?

 

The final thing she noticed was how Daenerys’ eyes had lit up upon seeing Jon, she couldn’t help but wonder if that was also a reason for the total lack of adequate attire, she held back a scoff as they greeted each other, as the last thing they needed was another woman falling at Jon Snow’s feet.

 

A voice in Sansa’s head reminded her that she was once that girl, whose eyes shone bright with the possibilities of marrying a prince, she silenced it quickly, that was before, and it is naïve to think any love could grow in this winter, or in the game.

 

“Lady Stark, it’s wonderful to finally meet you, I cannot thank you enough for opening up your home to me.” Daenerys’ smile shone just as brightly as before and her words for now seemed genuine, even if her rigid posture displayed an air of nervousness, or perhaps it was attempting to fight off the shivers which would portray weakness.

 

Nevertheless, Sansa steadied herself and tried to remember all the etiquette she was taught over the years.

 

“It is I who should be thanking you, your presence here and offer of help is greatly appreciated by all of us.” She attempted to smile in return and hoped her reservations did not seep into her voice, if not just to spare Daenerys from remaining in the cold, as it was clear that her hair may be the colour of ice and fire may run through her veins, but she was just as mortal as anyone standing in that courtyard. Sansa quickly invited her inside ignoring the caring impulse, she shouldn’t care if the girl was cold, she simply knew the facade of strength would help win over the northern lords.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys was quickly shown to her chambers after that as all agreed it was much too late to discuss war or politics, Sansa heard Jon request a fire be made in Daenerys’ room before she bid them all goodnight and entered her own chambers.

 

 She lay awake for many hours wishing for a moment she could ask her father or mother’s advice, she may have trusted Jon, but he had even less experience in the world of politics than her, his strategy may be sound, but what of after? The northern lords wanted a king of the north not a queen of the south even if she did come to their aid.

 

She thought of Robb and how he had fallen and shivered, she could not allow such a thing to happen to Jon, but he was leaving her with few options, for all his raving about the dragon queen he barely explained what deal he had with her.

 

Sansa could only hope he was thinking clearly when he made it, his smile towards Daenerys had been genuine, but not unlike the smile he directed at Sansa herself, and Arya upon their fleeting reunion the previous day. Sansa attempted to decode what this may mean, Jon was always kind if not overly stubborn like most Starks, perhaps he was simply kind to her, from what Sansa had heard the queen, had lacked kindness particularly from men.

 

She almost pitied the queen if her assumptions were correct, Jon was more focused on the war than anything else, when Sansa would ask of the future and wives and heirs he’d always simply smile and say that if dying teaches you anything it’s that you cannot plan so far ahead.

 

Sansa laughed to herself, she understood why people thought northerners’ odd.

 

She resigned herself to simply trusting Jon for now, but she would have to find out more about their arrangement later, and preferably get the queen some more clothes, she would struggle to inspire anyone to do battle with chattering teeth, no matter how appealing the outfits looked they simply weren’t suitable.

 

Sansa rose from her bed and began searching through her own wardrobe, she knew nothing would fit but perhaps a fur wrap would suit while they had something else made? She sat at the nearby table and began to modify a garment realizing she would get little sleep with so many thoughts on her mind.

* * *

 

Across the castle Daenerys lay close to the fire in an attempt to get warm, she had assumed the welcome would be short enough that her thin dragon riding apparel wouldn’t affect her, Jon had chided her upon bringing her bags into the room only relenting when she promised she’d wear a warmer outfit the next day.

 

He had not long left after their brief conversation about what to do regarding the new information after his parentage, he had shown her the raven his brother Bran had sent in Dragonstone, briefly explaining that his father was in fact Rheagar Targaryen and his mother was Lyanna Stark.

 

It had been…difficult to take in.

 

For days he’d spoken to nobody. Bran’s raven requested his urgent return to tell him more to which he had just finished filling Daenerys in. He seemed no more at peace with the information and confused over how he was supposed to tell his siblings…

 

Cousins, Daenerys reminded herself, let alone the northern lords.

 

They had agreed to simple delay such a confrontation; the war was far more important. While guilt plagued her for such a reaction, Daenerys was initially angry at the information, she knew what it meant immediately, Jon had a claim to the throne above hers. While she had been calmed by Jon’s revelation that he had no want for the throne and would gladly renounce his claim for her, she was still slightly sceptical, she hoped that this visit to his home would reassure her.

 

Daenerys’ mind went to the other Starks, Bran Stark’s eyes had followed her intently while he said nothing, Jon had reassured her that that was normal, at least now, she hadn’t questioned the sadness in his voice.

 

She had not met Arya Stark but upon learning of her being alive Jon had shared as much information as possible, Daenerys only hoped he would not be disappointed if she had changed like she assumes Bran had.

 

Sansa Stark was different, both Jon and Tyrion were reluctant to share, their admiration was clear, but it was almost as if anything they could have said would be too personal, as if they felt as though they were crossing a line only Sansa could.

 

The girl intrigued Daenerys, she survived the lion’s den only to be entrapped with another madman who betrayed her family, she knew little of what had happened but could only imagine the hardship one would have to go through to survive such an ordeal.

 

She was not at all what Daenerys expected however, her tall slender frame had stood proud and at peace in the harsh winter weather, and instead of defiance she was openly polite, if a little short with her.

 

It was easy to see why, the northern lords had not shown such kindness, many of their eyes spoke a thousand words of what they would do to her if they could. Sansa had been diplomatic, that could only last so long, Daenerys thought of the Tarly family and winced, she did not want to be put in that position here.


	2. Best Laid Plans

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! 
> 
> I decided to do a quick update because I know I have a few set up chapters before the main plot/s. 
> 
> This isn't meant to heavily link with season 8 as I wrote most of it before it aired so almost all parallels are accidental.

Morning came quickly and soon Sansa was telling a handmaid to deliver the furs to Daenerys, she was unsure whether the queen would appreciate such a gift, she had little time to think of such things though.

 

She broke fast quickly in her chambers to avoid a pre-meeting discussion with Jon, instead she waited until the last moment to enter the meeting room where Daenerys and Jon were talking quietly.

 

Sansa couldn’t help the smile that fell across her lips at the sight of Daenerys wearing the furs, she quickly schooled her expression hoping neither of them had noticed and took her seat on the other side of the table.

 

Littlefinger walked in and took his seat, far too close to Sansa for her liking. She didn’t miss the look that flashed across Jon’s face when he did, but in true Bealish fashion he ignored this and proceeded to introduce himself to the queen apologizing for his absence from the welcoming party.

 

To her credit Daenerys responded courteously and they quickly began to discuss the situation at hand.

 

Sansa mostly observed the meeting.

 

After their conversation, the previous day Sansa would have liked to think that they had her there as her opinion was valued. She knew in reality, despite Jon’s kind nature, she was most likely there as a token gesture to placate the lords who trusted her more after Jon’s long absence.

 

She also knew any plan made here was conditional, it would have to be tabled with all the heads of houses, so she did begin to question Baelish’s presence as the meeting went on.

 

Sansa observed Daenerys throughout the meeting, she too, mostly listened to Jon, chiming in when input about the dragons were necessary, a lot of Jon’s plan involved luring out the Nightking as Bran had previously informed him that killing him would hopefully affect the other white walkers.

 

The meeting came to a close and Sansa tried not to let the strain show on her face, they had a loose plan, but barely, and Lord Baelish had insisted on leaning slightly closer to her as the hours went by.

 

While they had eaten during Sansa could not wait to take her meal alone in her chambers.

 

However, before she could retire, she heard a soft voice call after her and when she turned, she saw Daenerys’ withdrawing her hand as if she’d almost gone to grab Sansa’s wrist but thought better of it.

 

“I’m terribly sorry to keep you Lady Stark, I just wanted to thank you for the furs, they’re lovely I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” She touched the furs softly for a moment as she spoke as if they were something precious.

 

“It was no trouble at all.” Sansa sends the other woman a small smile. “And please you must call me Sansa when we are alone, Lady Stark was my mother, it feels wrong to have such a title without earning it.” Sansa spoke again.

 

“I find it impossible to believe you do not deserve that title, but I shall do as you wish, if you call me Daenerys when we are alone.” Daenerys spoke again before waiting for an answer “I have to be honest, strategy meetings are not the most enticing things, I don’t think I’ve ever sat through such an intense one either, I imagine it will be worse when we present the idea to the others.”

 

Sansa made a noise of agreement before the other girl continued:  
“I find highborn men rather dreary, and I don’t think I’ve ever met one who hasn’t played the contrarian just to sound intelligent.”

 

  
Sansa smiled as she remembered Margaery Tyrell telling her something similar as they walked arm in arm around the gardens of King’s Landing, her smile slowly faded as she remembered the fate of Margaery.

 

Daenerys must have noticed the change.

 

“I’m terribly sorry, Jon is nothing like that of course, and I did not mean to offend.” She looked rather flushed and embarrassed, Sansa thought at that moment she looked nothing like a queen, just a girl.

 

“Oh no, it’s nothing like that, I was just thinking of an old friend who said something remarkably similar to me, though she was not nearly as polite as you.” Sansa saw Daenerys sigh in relief as she spoke.

 

“What is it that she said?”

 

“That she thought most highborn men lacked opinions of their own, and loved to sit with their thumbs up their arse and oppose anything to impress other highborn men with their thumbs up their arse.” Sansa couldn’t help but laugh as she remembered how scandalized she was at hearing pretty Margaery speak in such a crass way, she was glad to see Daenerys laugh as well.

 

“She sounds rather remarkable; I think she would be an asset to any negotiation.” Daenerys chuckled intrigued not noticing how Sansa’s face fell again.

 

“She’s dead.” Sansa said softly then continued before she could think about the impact of what she was saying. “It was Margaery Tyrell”

 

“I didn’t know you were close.” Daenerys’ voice sounded odd, almost harder, for a moment.

 

“She tried to be kind, when nobody else was.” Sansa felt herself getting defensive, she didn’t see the need to explain herself, she hadn’t bent the knee, the Tyrell’s had sworn allegiance to Daenerys and more importantly they were all dead now.

 

Sansa knows a part of this defense comes from knowing the Tyrells hadn’t been kind out of the goodness of their own hearts. Margaery had been her friend, she thinks, but they all wanted something from her.

 

Being the daughter of Winterfell, she was sure that would always be the case.

 

Who could love a wolf? 

 

“I’m glad you could find some refuge in such an awful place, Lady Olenna was quite the woman, I can only imagine her granddaughter would be the same,” Daenerys looked around at the empty room then returned her gaze to Sansa “Perhaps I should bid you goodnight now, I fear I’ve kept you for far too long.”

 

“Of course, goodnight Daenerys.” Sansa felt troubled by the abrupt end to the conversation but tried to mask her feelings.

 

“Goodnight Sansa.” Daenerys said before retreating down the corridor with a frown.

* * *

 

Sansa drummed her fingers against the meeting table trying to suppress her annoyance, this was their third meeting and they’d yet to actually decide anything of substance.

 

Sansa was thankful when a squire came in an announced Arya and Brienne’s return, both women entered and immediately cast dubious looks at Lord Baelish which Sansa could only subtly dismiss.

 

Introductions with Daenerys were short as Jon was eager to hear how their trip went.

 

“We managed to get two hundred more soldiers.” Arya sounded annoyed at the low number she had to speak, the villages they visited were small and there were few smallfolk left who hadn’t offered.

 

“They were much less generous in giving up their food your grace.” Brienne chimed in, she too looked irritated that may be due to Lord Baelish as his eyes remained fixed on Sansa. “They don’t understand how, if we fail, they’d be able to survive if the roads are blocked and all the grain remains here.”

 

“It won’t come to that” Jon sighed; he did always find the politics side of this difficult.

 

“We have dragons, surely they could clear the roads by melting the snow, then we could send transports to the neighboring villages to bring them here. Unless such work is beneath dragons?” Sansa spoke clearly and turned to Daenerys.

 

“Of course not, but would there be enough space here?” Daenerys tried to mask her surprise at Sansa’s interjection as the girl had barely spoken ten words in their previous meetings combined.

 

“We will have to try our best to accommodate, I’m sure the grounds and castle will be sufficient, along with the other houses offering their help.” Sansa replied, trying to formulate a plan.

 

“Then I believe it is a brilliant idea, but I do hope it will not come to that.” Daenerys sent Sansa a smile and turned to Jon for confirmation, he nodded and dismissed Brienne and Arya insisting on a full report later.

 

As the meeting, continued Daenerys kept casting looks to Sansa across the table, the auburn-haired girl tried not to notice however it was almost as often as Baelish, the looks from Daenerys certainly didn’t put her on edge like his gaze did though.

 

By the time the meeting ended, the last of their private meetings, Sansa realised Daenerys clearly wished to speak with her so stood but made no moves towards the door.

 

Unfortunately, Littlefinger was much closer to Sansa than Daenerys:

“Lady Stark, would you like to take a walk with me? We have much to discuss.” Baelish offered up his arm as he spoke and gave Sansa that sly smile of his, one that once comforted her, before she saw it for what it was, the sight of it made her skin crawl.

 

Sansa glanced at Daenerys and Jon who had busied themselves talking, clearly having no intention of leaving the room first, for that Sansa was relived.

 

  
“I’m sorry Lord Baelish but my sister promised the queen she would show her around the grounds, and I do believe your input would be helpful at my debriefing with Arya and Brienne.” Jon’s smile looked forced and his eyes gave away his disdain for the other man but Baelish relented.

 

“I suppose we couldn’t deny the queen the beauty of Winterfell.” He reached out and squeezed Sansa’s arm as he spoke, the double meaning wasn’t lost on her and she tried to move further away from him. “I’m sure we can speak later Lady Stark.”

 

With that both men left, not before Sansa shot Jon a thankful look, the two women were then alone.

 

“He’s rather smitten with you, isn’t he?” Daenerys stood rooted to the spot Jon left her in, playing with a loose section of fur that was securely wrapped around her shoulders. Her voice had an edge to it Sansa did not quite understand, perhaps the queen simply saw his advances for what they were; her family and Brienne often spoke in the same tone when referring to the lord of the Vale.

 

Sansa tried to brush off the comment, surely her concern was just polite.

 

“I am grateful to him, for his assistance in the battle of the bastards, the knights of the Vale were brave and lost many for us to be here.” Sansa tried not to wince at the sound of her voice, so reminiscent of how she spoke about Joffrey, at least part of this was true. Daenerys seemed deflated but Sansa pushed on, hoping to change the subject; “Jon said you wanted a tour?”

 

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind, Jon recommended you show me around, I think he’s too busy but wanted to be polite.” Daenerys chuckled to herself, remembering how flustered her nephew had become.

 

Sansa nods before leading the woman out.


	3. A Royal Tour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super nervous about tonight's episode, so here is a chapter. 
> 
> When i said "eventual fluff", it's probably more accurate to describe it as one of those graphs with lots of peaks and troughs...so some angst, then fluff, then more angst, then fluff. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this lil first date...I mean tour of Winterfell!

Sansa was unsure where to take Daenerys at first, she ruled out the Godswood as she was unsure of her faith, while she did not seem overly pious, she did not wish to offend.

 

She pointed out various rooms until they reached the courtyard where, Daenerys’ dragon, Drogon, Sansa reminded herself, had cleared much of ice and snow earlier that morning before he’d flown off.

 

The women saw him flying not far away and Daenerys smiled before they moved on.

 

They reached the doors of the glass gardens not long after.

 

The building was rather imposing, tall, incased entirely in glass with pipes filled with steam and water to regulate the temperature inside, around the door roses were growing. Daenerys reached out to touch one.

 

“They’re winter roses, my father said they were my aunt Lyanna’s favorite, they’re all over the castle.” Sansa smiles at the gentle way the other woman handled the flower but missed how rigid she went when Lyanna was mentioned.

 

“They’re beautiful Sansa.” Daenerys straightened herself up and followed Sansa into the glassed building, she was unprepared for the sudden wave of heat that hit her body causing her to sweat underneath her thicker robes and furs.

 

She heard Sansa chuckle by the side of her.

 

“Sorry I should have warned you; this is where we grow our crops and fruit when it’s cold, the temperature change takes some getting used to.”

 

Sansa walked slightly ahead to check with a farm hand who gave her a rundown of their progress.

 

Daenerys surveyed her surroundings and was in awe of the vastness of the place, grain was growing in abundance and fruit lined the edges of the paths, she could see vegetable patches in the distance before more grain stretched out. She breathed out in awe as Sansa returned to her side and began walking them down the gardens.

 

“And you say you need more food?” Daenerys asked dumbfounded, she didn’t think she’d ever seen this much food in her life.

 

“We have the entirety of the north to feed, and the men of the vale, we don’t know how long the war will last, it’s better to be overprepared than starve.” Sansa stopped to examine some blackberries and continued; “Besides, in my experience, a hungry cottage means rioting masses, this war is unlike any others we’ve seen, if we can’t feed the people why would they have faith in us and fight?”

 

Sansa remembered all too well the starving masses of King’s Landing, how they had rioted and attacked her and Margaery Tyrell in an effort to hurt the crown.

 

Joffrey could not learn from his mistakes, but she certainly had.

 

Sansa offered Daenerys a blackberry which the other girl gladly accepted, a noise of pleasure slipping past her lips as she ate, Sansa tried to ignore the way her stomach fluttered at the sound and the smile plastered on the other woman’s face.

 

“You’re truly wise beyond your years Sansa Stark, and these are delicious, should we be indulging so? If there is such a need?” Daenerys watched transfixed as Sansa wiped some of the juice from the corner of her own mouth, she blinked rapidly to break herself from the concentration.

 

Baelish stares at her enough for everybody, the poor girl didn’t need someone else doing it.

 

Daenerys ignored the voice in her head that told her she’d already been staring, reminding herself that she was Jon’s family now, it was only natural to want to get along with Sansa.

 

“I’ll be sure to take the blame if we all starve from the loss of two blackberries.” Sansa laughed as she gestured for Daenerys to follow.

  
The women had continued their tour for hours, enjoying the sights and each other’s company, as the night drew in and they were returning to the castle for food Daenerys stopped her eyes locked on a location that was a few feet away from them.

 

“What’s that Lady Stark?” The title felt foreign on her tongue after so many hours, but they were no longer in private, small folk, knights and lords were all bustling around the busy yard.

 

“Oh…” Sansa blushed slightly, she had hoped the other woman wouldn’t notice, “They’re the hot springs, sort of like public baths? They’re rather popular particularly now as winter is bitter.”

 

Daenerys smirked, Tyrion had warned her northerners were more modest in their lifestyle, this warning had come as she’d mounted Drogon in her thin attire, but she hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

 

She tried not to dwell on any other reason the woman may be uncomfortable with such things.

 

“Do you not enjoy them Lady Stark?” Sansa blushed deeper at the teasing tone Daenerys laced her title with.

 

“They’re lovely but very public, I went as a child with Arya but couldn’t imagine doing so now, even then we had more private ones, but we decided to open those up to everyone with it being so cold.” Sansa looked at Daenerys and saw her eyes had wandered back to the springs, which were rather empty due to the late hour, she could only hope the queen would not request they join the remaining few.

 

Her eyes briefly skimmed over Daenerys’ body as she remembered how she looked on her first day in the north, she wondered briefly how she would look in even less, but shook that thought away as the scars on her back practically buzzed to remind her why accepting such an invitation would be a bad idea.

 

Daenerys seemed to sense her hesitancy around the idea and smiled softly.

 

“A shame Lady Stark, I’m sure after the war I can try and convince you again, but now we must return as I believe dinner is calling.”

* * *

  
Much to Daenerys’ disappointment Sansa had retired to her room for dinner, much like the previous nights. As Arya and Bran had eaten earlier Daenerys was alone with Jon; so decided to broach the subject.

 

“She seems to eat alone often; do you know why?” she tucked into her food eagerly as she found she was rather fond of northern food, it did not have the spices of Essos, but it was filling, warm and almost comforting.

 

“She gets overwhelmed sometimes, I think living here is harder than she thought it would be.” Jon sighs and toys with his food; his brow furrowed. It would have been comical, how reminiscent of a child he looked, had what he said not been so troubling.

 

“They lived here. When she was with Ramsey?” Daenerys had slowed down her eating, finding her appetite rapidly dwindling. It made sense, she knew that, but it hadn’t quite dawned on her, just how awful that would be.

 

“Yes, but I don’t know what happened, she doesn’t like to talk about it.” Jon sighed again “At least with me, I think she feels as if she can’t, as if I wouldn’t understand, as if I’d think her weak.” Daenerys’ rested her hand on her nephew’s arm as he spoke “She won’t tell Arya either, I think she thinks we’re too different, our suffering has been in battle, as if it makes hers’ any less awful.”

 

He pulls his arm away from his aunt’s and continues to eat.

 

“She’s very strong Jon, she has survived so much, I’m sure she won’t give up now.” Daenerys tried to offer reassurance.

 

“But how much of her will be left when she’s finally done just surviving?” Jon frowned and Daenerys could only do the same, as she knew from her own experience how right Jon’s concerns were.

 


	4. In Motion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that episode huh? 
> 
> I can't thank everybody enough for the kind words and kudos on this fic! 
> 
> I was super nervous about posting something I never thought i'd share and you guys have been the best!

They had decided to take another walk, a little further this time.

 

Sansa couldn’t quite explain the giddy feeling she had gotten when Daenerys had shown up at her door just as dawn broke; shyly asking whether they could take advantage of their slightly clearer schedules while the fighters trained.

 

She was trying not to read too much into it.

 

Sansa discovered quickly that Daenerys had never seen snow before coming to Winterfell as the other woman managed to look completely in awe for the duration of their walk yet again, giggling to herself occasionally.

 

It was refreshing to watch someone so in awe of the home she had taken for granted before leaving for King’s Landing, Sansa found herself watching Daenerys far more than the environment around them.

 

They eventually reached a clearing where the tall trees had protected much of the ground, their branches appear to creak with the weight of the snow, but Sansa knew they were strong enough to hold.

 

Nevertheless, she lay down a blanket for them both to sit on before she proceeded to unpack.

 

Daenerys was still in a daze, she was used to rolling deserts and heat that you could almost feel beat at the base of your skull, she understood how dangerous winter was, but here, surrounded by the soft beauty of freshly fallen snow and Sansa, she couldn’t find it in her to be afraid.

 

Eventually she sat down next to Sansa and began to eat the fruit that was laid out.

 

“Are you alright? You haven’t said a word for a long time.” Sansa chuckled as she sipped some wine.

 

“It’s just so vast and beautiful, I imagined home for a very long time…Westeros I mean, none of it ever looked like this.” Daenerys locked eyes with Sansa and blushed, sharing wasn’t really her forte.

 

“Well I don’t mean to disappoint, but King’s Landing is nothing like this, so I would take full advantage of Dragonstone and Winterfell while you can.” Sansa’s nose flared in repulsion as she remembered the stench of King’s Landing.

 

“It is renowned for its beauty, is it not?” Daenerys observed Sansa’s facial expression change rapidly, as if she was calculating how to proceed.

 

“The buildings are lovely, mostly, and there is a wonderful view from the castle…”

 

“But?” Daenerys probed.

 

“It’s hard to ignore the savageness that has occurred there, it becomes much less beautiful when you think of that; the sept was lovely, until they started to torture people and Cersei blew it up, the keep was lovely, until it was a prison and the views were wonderful, until Joffrey put my family’s heads on spikes so I had to see them every day…”

 

Daenerys had no idea what to say, she knew things had been bad, Tyrion had given her some very brief details. She knew there was nothing she could say to make it better.

 

“I’m sorry Sansa” Daenerys slowly reached out to rub Sansa’s arm through her thick coat.

 

“It’s not your fault, everyone has pain to bear, that’s part of mine.” Sansa looked down at Daenerys hand and found the way her thumb rubbed her arm very comforting.

 

“Well I will just have to visit you here, won’t I?” Daenerys was trying to regain control of the conversation, she couldn’t stand the pained look on Sansa’s face, but the girl clearly didn’t want to talk about it.

 

She was so concerned with Sansa’s wellbeing she hadn’t even noticed the omission that just left her lips.

 

Sansa felt another flurry of butterflies at that prospect, she had assumed any budding friendship would end abruptly after the war, when Daenerys became the Queen in the South and to many northerners, the enemy.

 

“I would like that.” they shared a shy smile “I must confess I was wrong about you; my first impression couldn’t have been further from the truth.”

 

“Oh, and what did you first think of me Lady Stark.”

 

There was that flirty tone again, Sansa never thought hearing that title could make her blush as much as she was now.

 

“I thought you were naïve and wanted to seduce Jon.” Sansa laughs at the shocked expression on the other woman’s face.

 

“What?! Why on earth would you think that?!” Daenerys’ voice rose in pitch and volume, but she clearly wasn’t too upset, she had to remind herself that Sansa did not know she and Jon were related, guilt pooled in her stomach briefly as she remembered the secret.

 

“You rode into the north in the middle of winter in the skimpiest outfit I think I’ve ever seen, with no army, and you looked at Jon as if he hung the stars in the sky.” Sansa giggled into her wine.

 

“Firstly, I have a dragon, I don’t need an army.” Daenerys said in a mock serious tone, “And secondly, Jon Snow is not my type at all, he’s far too short.”

 

Sansa choked on her wine laughing at that, Daenerys’ hand suddenly moved from her arm to her back, rubbing circles in a soothing motion until Sansa’s coughing subsided, when she reluctantly pulled away.

 

“Don’t let him hear you say that.” Sansa managed to rasp out when she’d calmed down.

 

“Oh, I’m sure he wouldn’t take it too personally” Daenerys laughed and sighed happily at the other woman’s proximity, she felt herself blush at Sansa’s gaze.

 

Peace settled over the two women for a moment, until someone cleared their throat from not far away, Sansa jerked away from Daenerys and held a rigid posture. Daenerys didn’t need to turn to guess who had invaded their lunch, Baelish stood under the entrance to the clearing, his eyes roamed over both women as he gave them a knowing smile that put Daenerys on edge.

 

“Lord Baelish, what can we do for you?” Daenerys straightened her posture as she spoke trying to command authority and intimidate the man, unfortunately, as usual, he was unmoved.

 

“I was told I’d find you out here, Lady Stark you know everyone has been warned away from this area, the branches could give at any moment, you would be buried deep in the snow.” The man spoke as if he was totally unaware of Daenerys’ presence.

 

Daenerys’ jaw locked dangerously as she tried not to become irrationally angry at the man’s insolence.

 

“Yes, Lord Baelish, however I would not attempt to endanger the queen, so would not have come here unless I was sure we would be safe.” Sansa could sense the anger and distaste rippling from Daenerys’ body next to her as she tried to defuse the situation so she could dismiss the man.

 

“And besides, if anything had happened, Drogon could have easily fixed the problem.”

 

As if on Daenerys’ cue the huge dragon circled overhead and let out a loud screech, Sansa could have sworn she saw Baelish flinch.

 

“Nevertheless, Lady Stark perhaps you should come in, its bitterly cold, we wouldn’t want you to fall ill.” Baelish’s voice rang out but neither girl made any effort to move, Sansa looked as if she may be wavering.

 

“We were just leaving actually; I was going to introduce Lady Stark to Drogon.” Daenerys began packing everything away and helped Sansa stand up.

 

“Forgive me,” the man addressed Daenerys for the first time “but I do not think that is wise, I have no doubt in your abilities but, it seems like an unnecessary risk.”

 

“I will speak with you later Lord Baelish.” Sansa said. she had no idea whether Daenerys was being honest, but she would take any offer to escape the older man, her politeness and gratitude only extended so far.

 

“Please do, we have much to discuss.” He smiled at Sansa, before his gaze moved to Daenerys briefly, he then turned and left abruptly. The two women spoke nothing of the intrusion while they walked.

 

* * *

  
Sansa began to fall back as they got closer to where Drogon had landed, she could feel the heat his massive body exuded, nervousness bubbled up to her throat, as she tried to stop her hands shaking.

 

Daenerys had openly declared the dragons her children, she wouldn’t wish to insult the woman by revealing how terrified she was.

 

“It’s alright Sansa, he won’t hurt you, I promise.” Daenerys took Sansa’s hand in her own as she spoke and slowly walked them forward.

 

  
Sansa’s throat constricted as Daenerys slowly raised their joined hands to touch the dragon’s scales, they were warm and hard, but not uncomfortable.

 

Drogon moved his head to face Sansa and Daenerys and examined Sansa closely, Daenerys moved her free hand to rest on Sansa’s hip gently to steady the shaking girl, she leaned up so her lips close to her ear.

 

“It’s okay Sansa, just breathe.” She whispered softly, and Sansa could only hope she’d assume the shiver was down to fear and not Daenerys’ close proximity.

 

Drogon eventually seemed satisfied with the new arrival and dropped his head back onto the ground and huffed.

 

Sansa let out a large breath and continued to stroke the huge beast.

 

“See? Nothing to be afraid of, they’re quite docile really, if they trust you.” Daenerys spoke but made no effort to move her body or hands from their place on Sansa.

 

“He’s very beautiful.” Sansa breathed out the words so quietly Daenerys almost didn’t hear over Drogon’s breathing.

 

Sansa felt her body heat rise as she was caught between Drogon’s fiery scales and the heat from Daenerys hands.

 

The fear of being so close to Drogon and the desire from Daenerys’ voice and hands was enough to make Sansa dizzy, she felt herself sway slightly as her hands started to shake again.

 

They had drunk a lot more at lunch than she had intended, and it was beginning to hit her now as she was acutely aware of Daenerys rubbing small circles on her hip, the other woman clearly thought her shaking was still over fear.

 

Daenerys began to guide her away as Sansa tried not to stumble.

 

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend, it’s just all rather overwhelming.” Sansa swallowed thickly as she detached herself from Daenerys and took some deep breaths.

 

She missed the way the other woman’s face fell, before she schooled her expression into a smile.

 

“I’m not offended my lady, I understand it’s a lot to take in, perhaps we should return to the castle?”

 

She looped her arm into Sansa’s and guided them to walk back through the courtyard before bidding Sansa goodbye and returning to her chambers.

 

She gracelessly dropped onto her bed and groaned. She was being ridiculous, utterly ridiculous, she couldn’t exactly rationalize any of today’s events.

 

She had never felt so out of control, they were about to enter a war, she was supposed to be claiming the iron throne, instead all her thoughts were of soft eyes and fire red hair.

 

Daenerys rolled over and pressed her face into her pillow and groaned again.

* * *

 

On the other side of the castle Sansa entered her chambers only to find Baelish seated at her table, she repressed a sigh before addressing him.

 

“Lord Baelish, I said I would speak with you later, I did not mean now.” Sansa removed her gloves as she spoke and poured herself some wine that was next to Baelish.

 

“I understand Lady Stark; however, I believe you need to hear this information now.” He rises and walks over to her, placing his hand gently on her arm. “The Northern lords have expressed some…concerns, regarding your friendship with Daenerys.”

 

His eyes bore into hers and she fought to shift uncomfortably.

 

“What concerns?” Sansa eyed him dubiously, she was aware that Daenerys was not the most popular amongst the lords, but she didn’t see any need to be concerned.

 

“They are beginning to question your allegiance to the North.” Baelish was using that sickly-sweet voice.

 

“My allegiance to the North is unwavering, we need her to protect the North, Jon trusts her and so do I.” Sansa immediately regretted her sharp tone, knowing it would raise more questions.

 

“That is exactly what is worrying them Sansa, they know how trusting you’ve been in the past, it hasn’t always worked out very well.” Baelish moved closer and Sansa fought for the scowl to remain off her face.

 

“Yes, we both know my trust has not always been well founded Lord Baelish, perhaps you are right, and I should reevaluate the company I keep?”

 

The message was obvious, and Baelish took a step back but continued.

 

“Yes well, that is not their only worry, the queen’s previous inclinations have been concerning the lords, they would hate for you to be taken advantage of.” Baelish poured himself some wine and continued to stare at Sansa.

 

“Inclinations?” Sansa asked, confused.

 

“There are rumors, that Daenerys is perhaps more, open to certain activities, with women and men.”

 

It took Sansa a moment to register his words, he was smiling the way he did when he talked about what she would have to do on her wedding night with Ramsey, as if Cersei had not given her the same talk years before, it was a strange mix of lust, pity and something akin to humor. It made Sansa shudder.

 

She also found herself wanting to snort. It was almost a ridiculous thing to say. Cersei Lannister had three children with her brother, Robert Baratheon had more bastards than anyone could count. For Baelish of all people to act so prudish about something much tamer than that was almost beyond belief.

 

  
It wasn’t about him though, he was trying to guide her thoughts, plant seeds.

 

The truth of the information, or the hypocrisy of it all mattered little to him, she imagined.

 

It was what he wanted Sansa to think.

 

“I did not think you would partake in such idle gossip Lord Baelish, and given your reputation, if it is true, I hardly see why it would bother you.” Sansa could only hope she sounded dismissive enough.

 

“It is not I who has the problem Sansa, it is the northern lords, they worry, you are the lady of Winterfell, a prize to-”

 

“I am not a prize to be won or traded Lord Baelish, my devotion to the North is unwavering and I know exactly what I’m doing.” Sansa snapped angrily, then scorned herself for showing her hand to the older man.

 

“Of course, my lady, I simply wanted to help.” Baelish said appearing to retreat from the subject for now.

 

“You may leave now Lord Baelish.” Sansa spoke clearly, trying to appear bored of the conversation and faced away from the man until he left.

 

When she heard the door slam Sansa lowered herself onto the nearby chair and ran her hands through her hair.

 

She had no idea how to process such information, if it were true, and the Northern lords were concerned should she address such concerns? Or should she remain hardheaded and trust her own instincts?

 

A wave of sadness washed over her, and she again longed for her mother’s advice, she thought about what she would say, if she were there; she would have advised against the friendship no doubt, not out of spite but she was never a fan of political entanglements.

 

She was right of course, they usually did end badly, much better to keep your head down, make smart small alliances only with those less powerful than yourself.

 

But that was no longer a possibility, the wheels of whatever hung between Sansa and Daenerys were already in motion, and she did trust the other woman, who looked so kindly at the people of Winterfell.

 

However, she needed the faith of the Northern houses more than anything, Jon was clearly committed to the alliance already, did they see Sansa as the voice of reason? The voice of caution?

 

Sansa drained the wine in front of her and sighed, she knew it would be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of things about this chapter  
> 1) I kept Baelish alive for plot stuff, but honestly I always want him to shush.  
> 2) My favourite part to write was Sansa meeting Drogon because imagining Daenerys leaning up on her tip-toes to whisper in Sansa's ear is just...so good.


	5. What We Say in the Dark

Sansa’s head pounded as Jon’s fist hit the table in front of them, so far, the meeting was not going well. Most of the houses were still irritated by the Dragon Queen’s presence and were too arrogant to see how futile their protests were.

 

 

To Daenerys’ credit, she remained rigid and silent in her seat as the protests grew louder and louder. Arya, Brienne and Pod had already moved to quieten the lords down, with force if needed.

 

 

“Our plan will work, now if you want to sit here debating whether dragons will help us win the war then go ahead, but your pride will kill us all!” Jon’s voice rang out clearly across the now silent great hall, he seemed to wait for more protests, then continued; “Bran says we have two days to prepare, and reach the wall, we cannot let them come to us, we will be leaving in time, with or without you. Lady Stark will remain in Winterfell to make sure every non-fighting citizen is looked after and fed.”

 

 

 

Jon continued to inform the leaders of the houses when they would need to begin setting off and more tactical talk which Sansa tuned out.

 

 

It didn’t help her to know the exact detail of how her family may die, she couldn’t stop it even if she did know.

 

 

 

The meeting drew to a close as everyone filed out of the great hall, some pausing to ask Jon a question, but Sansa remained seated, her eyes fixed to a spot across the hall, unblinking.

 

 

Arya gave her shoulder a squeeze before going to help the free folk prep.

 

 

Jon looked at her with concern in his eyes and slowly walked over and sat next to her. Neither spoke for a long time, Jon noticed his aunt seemed to be busing herself talking to Brienne not far away, but her eyes always roamed to stare at the two seated figures.

 

 

“Sansa…” Jon spoked softly with pity lacing his words, it made Sansa flinch as her blood boiled, she hated that tone, always accompanied with soft eyes that made her feel weak. She clenched her fists and whipped her head around.

 

 

 

“What? Should you not be preparing like everyone else? Or does the king of the North have some privilege where he can sit around as everyone else toils at all hours?” She snapped and instantly felt guilty as Jon rose from his chair and, like Arya, squeezed her shoulder.

 

 

She was then left sitting alone, as everyone around her tried so hard to prepare for the worst war they’ll ever fight.

 

 

“Lady Stark?” Daenerys’ voice was hesitant, but steady.

 

 

 

“I’m terribly sorry, my mind was elsewhere.” Sansa rose to face Daenerys and attempted to school her expression, she didn’t want the other woman to be another victim of her worries, she glanced at Jon again as another wave of guilt hit.

 

 

 

“I was just wondering if you were alright, you seemed a little out of sorts during the meeting, are you unwell?” Daenerys’ eyes were filled with concern that almost made Sansa dizzy, there wasn’t pity there just concern.

 

 

Sansa considered her options, she could lie and say she was quite well, she could feign sickness to avoid any questions from anyone, not just the other woman, or she could be honest about her worries; Sansa almost laughed aloud at that, she’s sure after all this time she’s developed some ailment whereby her tongue turns to lead if she wishes to express her feelings.

 

 

 

“I simply had a bad night’s sleep, I’m sorry if I worried you.” Sansa tried to smile but Daenerys looked unconvinced.

 

 

 

“Perhaps I could walk you to your chambers? You will need as much rest as possible now the plan is in motion.” Daenerys’ eyes turned to hopeful and Sansa simply couldn’t refuse.

 

 

 

They walked slowly towards Sansa’s large chambers and she felt herself becoming more anxious with each step. Their hands swung dangerously close to each other, occasionally bumping together, causing the butterflies in Sansa’s chest to return.

 

 

When they reached the door, Daenerys shuffled almost awkwardly before clearing her throat.

 

 

“I must admit I’m no expert with this sort of thing, with Drogo…he was capable…” Daenerys’ eyes widened as she realised what she’d suggested “Not that Jon, Arya and Bran aren’t of course! In fact, I find your sister slightly terrifying, but I just meant I didn’t worry for him…perhaps because he never faced such a threat? I’m not sure…”

 

 

Daenerys definitely looked uncomfortable now, and Sansa was beyond confused, had she drifted off as Daenerys was speaking? The conversation seemed to come out of the blue as they were silent only moments ago.

 

 

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Sansa tried to catch the other woman’s eye, but they appeared to be looking everywhere but at her.

 

 

“I suppose I worried about Jorah, when he caught that dreadful illness.” Daenerys continued as if she hadn’t heard Sansa. “But I don’t think it’s the same, not like how worried Missandei was over Grey Worm returning safe…she asked all the time if I’d heard anything…I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such concern…perhaps I shouldn’t be the one trying to comfort you.” Daenerys voice picked up gradual speed as her cheeks became dusted pink with a blush that Sansa found extremely endearing, she had to refrain from touching the other woman’s face.

 

 

Instead she gently touched her arm as she showed no signs of stopping.

 

 

“Daenerys…” Sansa tried to soften her voice, as she rubbed circles on Daenerys’ arm to calm her down. “I really don’t understand what you’re saying, would you like to start again?” she offered a reassuring smile which made Daenerys sigh in relief.

 

 

“I know you’re concerned, about the war, I just wanted to try and reassure you but I’m afraid I failed spectacularly.” She left out a small laugh and shook her head as if to scold herself.

 

 

“I know you’re all capable, but I can’t help but worry that not all of you will return.” Sansa winced when she realised she’d included Daenerys in that, but she couldn’t lie, Jon had asked in many meetings whether Tyrion had tried to convince her not to fight, Baelish had raised the same concerns, in a much more condescending way.

 

 

The implication that Sansa worried about her safety caused warmth to settle in Daenerys’ chest in an unfamiliar way and she fought a smile from her face.

 

 

 

“I can’t promise that won’t happen, but I’ll do everything I can to protect them Sansa.” Daenerys spoke as she rested her hand over Sansa’s on her arm and couldn’t stop the soft smile from erupting.

 

 

 

“And who protects you?” Sansa’s voice was barely above a whisper, as if it were a thought, she knew she shouldn’t voice.

 

 

Daenerys paused then, the smile dropped from her face, realistically she knew her armies would arrive tomorrow, they would certainly try to protect her, and her dragons would rather die than see harm come to their mother; neither of those answers sounded satisfying in her head. She could say Jon, she knew they were close, but not why.

 

 

Daenerys knew she had so many people to protect her, but the way Sansa was looking at her, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth showed her that while Sansa knew those things, she wasn’t convinced it was enough.

 

 

“Now, lady Stark you know full well I have very impressive armies and dragons at my disposal, why on earth would you be worrying about that?” Daenerys’ tone was teasing, she stressed her title again, it always seemed to make Sansa smile now, and this time was no different.

 

 

 

“You’re right, of course you are…I just had this silly notion that…well…” Sansa paused as if she realised how foolish she’d been, Daenerys squeezed her hand, urging her to continue; “I thought you’d try and do something stupidly heroic.”

 

 

 

“Ah well, I swear to you Lady Stark, in front of the old gods and the new that I will try my very best to avoid doing anything stupidly heroic.” Both women giggled and Sansa could forget her worries for just a moment.

 

 

Only for a moment however, as Baelish rounded the corner a moment later and Sansa, without thinking, quickly dragged the other girl into her room with her and locked the door before groaning when she heard a knock.

 

Daenerys looked at her alarmed, clearly not having seen Little Finger quickly approaching. Sansa lifted a finger to her lips to indicate that she shouldn’t speak.

 

 

“Sansa? Are you in there?” Baelish’s voice was muffled by the thick oak door, but it was unmistakably him. Sansa swore she saw Daenerys scowl at the sound but brushed it off. They both stood frozen until they heard steps down the hall.

 

 

“He bothers you.” Daenerys spoke softly.

 

 

“A little...” Sansa sighed and moved to sit on her bed, and gesture Daenerys to sit next to her, part of her knew it was inappropriate, but she couldn’t find it in her to care at that moment.

 

 

Her gaze drifted from Daenerys’ neck up he strong jaw to her face as she allowed the flutter it caused in her chest to widen; she really was very beautiful.

 

 

“I don’t like how he looks at you” Daenerys’ voice was quiet, and her eyes seemed transfixed on a spot just past Sansa’s head. Sansa moved her hand to rest on top of Daenerys’.

 

 

 

“You aren’t the first to say that, Arya talks about it all the time.” Sansa frowned as her fingers began to unconsciously stroke Daenerys’, the other girl closed her eyes briefly at the sensation before gently reciprocating.

 

 

It occurred to Sansa briefly that this was odd, she hadn’t had a friend in so long, but she knew this wasn’t typical behaviour.

 

 

Her last friendship with a woman had been Margaery. They’d often sit, exactly as her and Daenerys were now, but something about this felt far more permanent and real, Margaery, with all her sweetness had never done anything; it was simply escapism for them both.

 

 

It was the sweet idea that there was a world where things could be easier, but sitting on her bed with Daenerys, it was real, and it made Sansa’s body tingle with excitement and fear.

 

 

“Why put up with it?” Daenerys’ soft voice broke Sansa from her inner musings.

 

 

 

“We need him.” Sansa spoke plainly, she learnt many lessons from Cersei, one of those lessons was sometimes you had to put up with awful people if they add value, she knew it was not something Jon or Arya would understand.

 

 

Daenerys seemed to understand though, as she simply nodded and squeezed Sansa’s hand.

 

 

“I wish you didn’t.”

 

Sansa could only nod in response to that, she examined Daenerys’ bright purple eyes with curiosity before her eyes fell to the other girl’s slightly parted lips, her breathing had become heavier, both girls sat motionless for a moment, entranced by one another before they heard a loud shout from outside. 

 

Daenerys cleared her throat and continued: “Perhaps I should leave you to rest?”

 

 

“Or you could stay? I have wine and fruit, we could talk…not about war or undead monsters.” Sansa tried to appear confident but she felt her whole-body tense, ready for rejection.

 

 

“I would love that” Daenerys smiled widely as both girls became more relaxed.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys awoke with a start much later, darkness shrouded much of the room from her view, it took her eyes moments to adjust, her heart rate only increased when she realised she had yet to leave Sansa’s room.

 

 

She looked down and saw furs had been draped over her, most likely after she fell asleep, Sansa’s sleeping form is laid across the bed close to her, Daenerys allowed her eyes to travel over the woman’s body, that was also mostly covered by furs. The excitement she always felt when looking at Sansa bubbled up again, settling across her chest and in her stomach.

 

 

 

It only lasted a moment however, as fear immediately took its place, it was late, the darkness made that much obvious, someone would come to her room to fetch her at first light as her armies would be arriving.

 

 

She couldn’t be seen leaving Sansa’s rooms so early in the morning, even if they had only talked…and drank, Daenerys’ head was lightly thumping as a reminder of their activities.

 

 

A part of her wished she could simply wake Sansa and ask what she should do, but that seemed ridiculous, she didn’t want her to worry.

 

 

She’d heard those men whispering when she walked by, she was accustomed to rumors of course but never to this scale or disgust.

 

 

“She ate a whole horse’s heart.” Some would mutter, true but hardly interesting.

 

 

“She murdered every man that has ever loved her.” Hurtful, but not true.

 

“She feeds babies to her dragons.” One man had gasped as she’d walked by, that was utterly moronic, and she wanted to tell him so, unfortunately Jon had also heard and simply pulled her away.

 

 

“That’s because it’s not men she wants.”

 

 

Granted that man looked very old and miserable, but he was technically wrong.

 

She still didn’t understand Westorosi people’s obsession with such things, of course she knew vaguely what happened to Loras Tyrell and Tyrion had warned her to proceed more carefully if she wished to enjoy the company of a woman.

 

 

She thought they were ridiculous rules but starting a fight with a Northern Lord probably would not garner her more support.  She didn’t want Sansa to think that her intentions with her were, she cringed, _immoral_.

 

 

She didn’t believe Sansa would think such a thing, and deep-down Daenerys knew from the way her eyes lingered on Daenerys’ body a bit longer than appropriate that at least some of her feelings may be reciprocated.

 

 

No, she could wake Sansa, share her worries, but that would mean facing any feelings she may now harbor.

 

 

In truth Daenerys knew her feelings for Sansa were far from admiration of a political ally, or even the platonic feelings of a friend, they were the sorts of feelings Daario had spoken about, the feelings that were behind Jorah’s longing stare.

 

 

She thought accepting this would be freeing, it wasn’t.

 

 

Daenerys was overcome with guilt; Sansa didn’t need to explain what had happened to her for Daenerys to know she didn’t need a friend leering over her or wishing they could hold her every night.

 

 

Daenerys sighed and ran her hands through her silver hair, no, she hadn’t leered; leering is what Baelish does, and Sansa had seemingly expressed at least mutual attraction.

 

 

Daenerys tried to ignore the feeling low in her stomach when she _knew_ Sansa was looking at her. It had happened last night, with wine coursing through their systems, the women had giggled, their hands still clasped tightly together. Daenerys could have sworn Sansa wished to kiss her, if only she’d been brave.

 

Dragons were supposed to be brave.

 

 

 

Sansa was kind, intelligent and beyond beautiful, Daenerys knew she deserved someone who could give her everything, who could be present always.

 

 

She knew that wasn’t her, even if she survived the great war, she was destined for the throne, Sansa did not deserve to have her heart broken in such an awful way.

 

 

Sansa rolled over in her sleep and Daenerys snapped back to the present, she had to leave before anyone noticed her absence. She rose and searched for parchment and ink to pen Sansa a message, to explain why she left.

 

 

She placed it carefully on the table and with one last look at the sleeping woman, she left.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I know where the battle would take place realistically (and the direction the show is going), but I didn't want to lumber anyone with a horribly written battle scene from multiple POVs, also I want the dead VERY far away from the crypts of Winterfell. 
> 
> Much like how the dead have been coming for seasons in the show, I promise the war will happen soon. (More plot to come after the war, I've almost finished writing the whole thing.)
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely comments.


	6. Consequences

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very nervous about tonight. 
> 
> Also!!! This fic surpassed 100 kudos!! That's so cool! 
> 
> General warning of Baelish being annoying.
> 
> I added the eventual happy ending tag as I promise they will get their happy ending!

Sansa wakens slowly and immediately notices an absence; she surveys the room quickly to find nothing out of place. She does spot a small scroll of paper on her table and slowly retrieves it, her limbs ache with sleep.

 

 

She unrolls it and smiles at the new but almost familiar loopy handwriting.

 

 

‘Sansa, I’m so sorry to leave you so quickly, I had to prepare for Tyrion’s arrival and didn’t wish to wake you, I had the most wonderful evening, thank you. - Daenerys.’

 

 

A smile broke across Sansa’s face as she carefully folded the note and placed it back down.

 

 

The sun was streaming through her window as she realised she had very little time to get ready, she rushed with a new dress, calling in a handmaiden to tie it and fix her hair until she felt as though she were presentable.

 

 

Slowly she made her way down to the courtyard, she stood next to Arya and Bran, Jon was with Daenerys slightly in front of them.

 

 

Sansa noted how hard Daenerys’ expression was, she suddenly felt concerned, she knew all rulers needed a blank expression, but she noticed how the other girl’s jaw quivered with the effort of remaining emotionless.

 

 

Any reassurance the note had given her evaporated within a second.

 

Her thoughts were broken by the sound of Drogon screeching above them, a clear greeting to his brothers as seconds later two more, slightly smaller dragons were circling Winterfell as the sound of horses and marching became almost deafening.

 

 

The Dothraki and Unsullied were just as imposing as Jon had explained, the sheer number expanded far past the gates and Sansa was suddenly glad they wouldn’t stay long as they simply could not accommodate that many people.

 

 

Tyrion stepped from the royal carriage, followed by a dark-skinned woman, Missandei, Sansa reminded herself.

 

 

Tyrion sent Sansa a smile, albeit an awkward one, which she returned, before they engaged in pleasantries.

 

It was only then, she noticed Baelish’s absence, unease settled in her gut, but she tried to shake it. Sansa decided to excuse herself as the generals went off with Jon and Daenerys to continue to prep.

 

 

Sansa wandered the grounds for a short while, observing the Dothraki men, that even in winter, seemed to forgo most clothing, Sansa smiled at how it reminded her of Daenerys’ first day in Winterfell.

 

 

Suddenly she noticed Tyrion had joined her.

 

“Do war meetings not interest you Lord Tyrion?” Sansa does not look, but she knows the man is smirking.

 

 

“if this experience has taught me anything it’s that, hand I may be, war chief I am not.”

 

 

“I could have told you that, I don’t think two houses needed to die for that little experiment.” Sansa’s dry tone caused Tyrion to cough awkwardly, she had meant it as a joke, but she knew he’d feel guilty, she’d long grown tired of protecting men’s egos however.

 

 

“Not quite dead my lady, I’m sure Garlan and Willas had the good sense to hide somewhere.” Tyrion straightened his coat, he was still uncomfortable, Sansa knew that tick was his attempt at masking it.

 

 

Sansa simply hummed in agreement, Margaery had mentioned her older brothers, she’d like to think they had the foresight, but Loras had often joked that Garlan was all brawn and no brains, and Willas may not have found it easy to escape.

 

 

They continued to walk and chat, Sansa grew irritated quickly, she respected Tyrion, but it was clear he wanted to ask her something, it would be much easier to simply ask.

 

 

He missed his opportunity as Lord Baelish sauntered over to them and grasped Sansa’s arm much rougher than usual.  Tyrion grimaced at the man before setting his face straight and sticking his hand out as an act of goodwill.

 

 

“Lord Baelish, I did not realize you were here, it’s been a long time.” The distaste was obvious in his voice, and Sansa noted how tense her former husband had become.

 

 

“I’m afraid I had some urgent matters to attend to this morning,” he ignored Tyrion’s hand and locked his gaze onto Sansa “and now, they require your immediate attention Lady Stark.” He began to pull her away before either could reply, she cast a look back at Tyrion hoping to portray the need for him to check with the war council.

 

If it was that, surely, he would be needed as well? Perhaps it was Arya? Or Bran had had another vision? Sansa’s heartbeat became erratic as her body shook slightly; had the wall broken? Was the war here? She tried to calm herself as they rounded a corner and entered…her chambers?

 

 

“Lord Baelish!” Sansa was surprised at how loud her voice was, and how violently she attempted to yank her arm away, while her voice was enough to startle the other man, his grip remained fierce.

 

 

“What is the meaning of this Sansa? How could you do something so foolish?” Baelish had finally let go of her arm to pace by the window, waving something in his hand.

 

 

Dread pooled in her stomach when she recognized the paper, it was the note Daenerys had left her, she knew she had no reason to feel guilty, they hadn’t done anything wrong; but the way Baelish grabbed her suggested this wouldn’t be an easy thing for him to understand.

 

 

“What are you talking about Lord Baelish?” Sansa attempted to keep her voice even as she watched the man halt his pacing and turn towards her.

 

 

“You could destroy everything we’ve worked for if someone else found this.” He approached her and gently placed his hand on her cheek, it took all of Sansa’s restraint not to pull away. “Our dreams are so close Sansa, a night with the mother of dragons is not worth losing everything for, is it?” 

 

 

His voice was taking that sickly-sweet quality on again, she wants to correct him again, and say it wasn’t their dream, but his, there was nothing she wanted less than being on the iron throne with him.

 

 

She was smarter than that though, he wasn’t worried, he was trying to scare her, so she retreated into him. She looked at his face, his eyes were hard, much like his jaw, he was trying to calculate her thoughts again.

 

“I don’t understand, we didn’t do anything,” she grasped his arms in faux fear, “Nobody will find out, will they?” Sansa cringed at how pathetic she sounded, but she knew it would work.

 

 

“No, I wouldn’t let them, just be glad I came to fetch you, I dread to think what the lords would have done if they discovered that you had spent a night with that woman.” The disgust in his tone didn’t reach his eyes yet again. It only then dawns on Sansa that he really did think she had lain with the other woman; she suppressed a blush at the image of such a thing and focused back on Baelish.  “Nobody can see this note Sansa.”

 

He moved to a lit candle and burnt it quickly.

 

“I don’t blame you Sansa, that woman has manipulated you, you just need to be more careful.” He spoke as he walked back over to her and placed a lingering kiss on her forehead. Sansa for her part, managed to not snap at him, despite her agitation at the notion Daenerys would manipulate her. “Promise me you won’t breathe a word of that night to anyone.”

 

“I promise Lord Baelish.” She forced a smile as she spoke, the words tasted like acid on her tongue.

 

“Good girl.”

 

* * *

 

 

Tyrion was left bewildered as he watched Sansa being pulled away by a frantic looking Lord Baelish, the man’s presence made him uncomfortable enough without adding the previous interaction. 

 

 

Tyrion noticed Sansa’s desperate expression and decided to consult Jon, if the issue was war related, he would know, if not someone should know Sansa had been practically dragged to an unknown location.

 

 

He practically ran to the war room and burst in without knocking, he was greeting with the faces of Jon, Daenerys, Brienne, Arya, Grey Worm, Missandei, the Dothraki general and Davos, all looking confused at his abrupt entry.

 

 

“Is everything alright Tyrion?” Daenerys stood to greet him, her face stood stoic as ever, but her eyes portrayed worry.

 

 

“Lord Baelish believed there was a rather urgent matter that needed attending to,” Tyrion breathed before turning to Jon, “I can now see the wall has not fallen, so perhaps someone should proceed to check on his whereabouts and definition of urgent.” Tyrion poured himself a cup of wine after he spoke.

 

 

“Did he say what it was about?” Arya said, making no effort to hide her irritation, either at the interruption or Baelish, Tyrion assumed it was a mix of both.

 

 

“Simply that it concerned Lady Sansa, he seemed rather distressed, dragged her off somewhere, I assumed they’d come here.”

 

 

Judging by the faces of those around him, he realised it would have been better to follow the man and Sansa, rather than stand looking confused until he could no longer see them. Brienne rose rather abruptly.

 

 

“I can go and look, and perhaps Pod will have seen them while training?” Her voice was clearly an attempt at calm, but it appeared that nobody in the room liked Baelish that much.

 

“That’s a good idea, if you can’t find them come back here.” Jon said, he was much less well versed in the nuances of politics so worry was written all over his face, and a tint of anger, Tyrion noted.

 

 

What shocked him, however, was how Daenerys was still standing; her eyes unfocused on the table as if she were deep in thought, worry lines marred her forehead, overall, she looked distressed.

 

 

 Surly the man cannot be that terrifying, annoying? yes, and he understood the Stark’s distaste, he knew what he had done to Sansa; but Daenerys had no reason to act in such a way.

 

 

He had little time to dwell on this before Brienne had exited the room muttering under her breath. Daenerys slowly sat down as the meeting continued, Tyrion sighed and took the vacant seat and waited for news on the urgent matters.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys’ mind whirled as she half listened to Jon explain the plan to have Missandei translate when needed.

 

She wasn’t stupid, the ‘urgent matter’ Baelish spoke of, was most likely her, had he seen her leave in the morning? Did he assume something more had happened? What would he do to Sansa if he did think that? She felt a wave of nausea hit her. Her eyes were fixed on the door, wanting Brienne desperately to return with Sansa.

 

 

The man may not be violent, but she knew he was powerful, he could intimidate.

 

 

She noticed in the corner of her vision that Tyrion and Arya were eying her suspiciously, she found it hard to care in that moment. She had resigned herself not to indulge her feelings for Sansa any further, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care.

 

 

She began to tap her finger on the table impatiently, she knew Petyr wouldn’t be stupid enough to harm Sansa in the middle of Winterfell, something felt wrong.

 

 

 The meeting soon ended without a sign of Brienne, Daenerys rose quickly and exited the room before anyone could corner her with questions. Her heart was beating erratically, it occurred to her she had no idea where to go, misery quickly took over as she realised she had no place to protect Sansa, even if something was wrong.

 

 

She felt a gentle hand on her arm and turned to meet the soft brown eyes of Missandei, concern was written over her friend’s face. Daenerys’ face fell and her friend wordlessly guided her into the room she had been given and eased her to sit down.

 

Missandei had always been a wonderful advisor and friend, she always knew when Daenerys needed something.

 

 

“What’s the matter your grace?” her voice was careful and measured, she was trying not to overstep boundaries, Daenerys realised.

 

 

“I am simply worried for the upcoming war, my friend.” She tried to smile, she knew she could confide in her, but she had resigned herself not to peruse any feelings, so it seemed like a moot point.

 

 

“Daenerys…” Missandei spoke again after a long pause, the woman rarely used her name, a stickler for formality and caution she supposed. “If I may speak freely, you seemed perfectly confident before Lord Tyrion joined us with news of Sansa Stark.”

 

 

“What are you implying?” Her voice stayed calm; she knew her turmoil wasn’t Missandei’s fault.

 

 

“Perhaps your worries are more of a, personal nature?” Missandei replies, her voice careful and measured as always.

 

 

Daenerys sighed, it was pointless trying to keep it from her, and really, if Missandei could confide in her about her worries for Grey Worm, she should be able to do the same, she could hardly talk to Jon about such things.

 

 

“Is it that obvious?” Daenerys says, trying not to whine like a petulant child.

 

 

Missandei’s shoulders relax a little and she even lets out a small giggle.

 

 

“I imagine only to myself, your grace.” The other woman replied, a ghost of a grin still on her face.

 

 

“I think he’s dangerous…” Daenerys starts before letting out a huff. “Perhaps not…either way, I don’t trust him.”

 

 

“Lord Baelish?” Missandei asks, though Daenerys is sure the answer is obvious.

 

 

She simply nods in reply. Missandei seems to consider the statement for a moment, before humming in what Daenerys assumes is agreement.

 

 

“But it doesn’t matter what I think does it?” Daenerys huffs, again. It’s rhetorical but part of her wishes Missandei would answer.

 

 

“Lady Stark respects your opinion, your Grace.” Is all the woman replies.

 

 

And Daenerys knows that, in fact, she knows Sansa agrees with her, as do most of her family by the looks of it, but it doesn’t make her feel better.

 

 

She also knows the real reason for her worry is the guilt she feels, that something she did may have made Sansa’s life harder, she had been so careful when leaving her chambers, but she’s sure that must be what caused Baelish’s reaction.

 

 

She groans again.

 

 

“It doesn’t matter.” Daenerys claims, steeling herself. “Sansa Stark should not be my priority at this time, I should meet with Tyrion about the war effort.”

 

 

Missandei stays silent, most likely sensing that Daenerys’ mind would not be changed. Sansa could take care of herself, Daenerys reasons.

 

 

She continues to repeat that to herself for the rest of the night, until sleep finally overtakes her.

 

 

 


	7. Patience

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys have honestly been so nice, I feel very guilty about posting this angst chapter. 
> 
> I said slow burn and angst right? 
> 
> So...here's some angst?

Daenerys is awoken hours later by a soft knocking, the moonlight still lit the sky and more snow was gently falling.

 

 

Daenerys pulls a thick woolen shawl around her, silently cursing the cold of the north, before she slowly rises to answer the door. The soft nature of the knocking reassures her that it cannot be an emergency, however it does leave the question, who would visit her at such an hour?

 

 

Daenerys shivers slightly when her feet hit the cold floor, the fire in her room was barely flickering.

 

 

The heavy door creaks loudly as she opens it, she tries not to look too surprised to see Sansa standing on the other side.

 

 

She pulls the woolen shawl tighter against her and feels slightly embarrassed at how she must look, it had been a long day and she’d barely had the energy to change her clothes before trying to sleep.

 

 

She tries to push down the relief at seeing Sansa safe, she suddenly feels like her worrying was slightly ridiculous.

 

 

“Lady Stark.” She whispers softly. “Is everything alright?”

 

 

Sansa seems to look around the halls before replying in an equally soft whisper:

 

 

“May I come in?”

 

 

Daenerys quickly moves aside to allow Sansa to walk into her chambers, she thinks briefly that she shouldn’t be so open with the woman, after all, after this war is over, she’ll be on the opposing side of her battle for the throne.

 

 

But watching Sansa as she fidgets with her hands, nervously surveying Daenerys’ room, she does not see Lady Stark, only Sansa, and Sansa is surely her friend.

 

 

“Sansa…” Daenerys says, worry bubbling in her throat at the women’s silence and unease.

 

 

“Lord Baelish, he found your note.” Sansa blurts out, her fingers ghosting over the furs she gifted Daenerys.

 

 

Daenerys curses the man, not for the first time.

 

 

She also curses herself, for being so foolish.

 

 

Sansa still seems unharmed, but it can’t have been a pleasant conversation, she desperately wants to know what Sansa said to him.

 

 

“I imagine he reacted completely rationally?” Daenerys jokes, trying to ease the frown that was heavy set in Sansa’s features yet again.

 

 

The corners of her mouth almost tug up into a smile, before she simply scoffs.

 

 

“I feel you have a right to know, in case any…” Sansa pauses, seemingly choosing her words carefully. “Damage control is needed on your end.” She seems to cringe at her phrasing.

 

 

Daenerys is slightly confused but presses on.

 

 

“What sort of damage?” She lowers her voice again and shifts slightly at her spot near the door.

 

 

“He thinks…” She pauses again and laughs this time. “He thinks we’re having some sort of illicit affair, that could derail the whole of northern politics apparently.” She finishes dryly.

 

 

Heat seems to rise to Daenerys’ cheeks and she suddenly feels rather uncomfortable.

 

 

Of course, that conclusion makes sense, the note had been vague, and she knew how the Northern Lords spoke about her. And yet, it still made her feel slightly flushed.

 

 

“Right.” Daenerys forces the word out as Sansa stares at her expectantly, there’s something in Sansa’s features that makes Daenerys think she’s not telling her the whole story, but she doesn’t want to press.

 

 

“Is that all you can say?” Sansa replies, her voice slightly sharper than a moment ago. “I don’t know how it worked across the narrow sea but here an allegation like that could seriously harm your bid for the throne.”

 

 

Sansa had started pacing and Daenerys takes the opportunity to sit back on her bed.

 

 

“I will deal with it accordingly.” Daenerys replies, smiling slightly at Sansa’s continued pacing and worry.

 

 

“How?” Sansa rasps out, stopping to stare at her.

 

 

The smile slips from Daenerys’ face as she’s met with the fierce intensity of Sansa’s gaze, heat creeps back up her cheeks as she wrings her hands, feeling slightly like a scolded child.

 

 

“He won’t say anything.” Daenerys exclaims, trying to sound sure. “It would harm you too.”

 

 

“He could still use it against you.” Sansa says, pinching the bridge of her nose.

 

 

“Forgive me Lady Stark, but why would that be a concern for you? Surely any obstacle to anyone that could take away the North’s sovereignty is a good thing?” Daenerys replies, standing.

 

 

She immediately regrets her words as Sansa looks as though she’s been slapped.

 

 

Daenerys realizes a moment too late that that could be taken as though she’s questioning Sansa’s loyalty to the North.

 

 

“You are better than Cersei, that is all.” Sansa snaps, resuming her pacing, before she lets out a bitter laugh. “Perhaps I would be better off with the devil I know.”

 

 

She does not wait for a reply before storming out.

 

 

Daenerys is lost for words; she’d had no idea Sansa was so upset.

 

 

She couldn’t help but feel as if she’d just propelled herself backwards through all the progress they’d made, Sansa had spoken to her in the cold detached way she had upon her arrival.

 

 

It shouldn’t bother Daenerys, but the night before they went to war, knowing she could die with the hurt on Sansa’s face imprinted on her brain, made her heart ache in an unexplainable way.

 

* * *

 

Sansa is restless, for days she snaps and shouts at anyone unfortunate enough to be on her radar, they’d gone to the wall nine days ago.

 

Sansa had no idea it would be so hard. She thinks bitterly, more than once, that it should be familiar, since the moment she left Winterfell it’s as though she’s been waiting to die.

 

 

It never seems to come.

 

 

They can’t communicate with them beyond the wall, even the Ravens have no desire the face the White Walkers.

 

 

The people, for the most part, have been calm, they only have a limited army left, mostly the knights of the Vale. Which means Baelish is an ever-constant presence. As a result, Sansa had developed a never-ending headache.  

 

 

She tries to distract herself, filling her days with visiting any apprehensive highborn men and women that could not fight and spending time with the small folk as much as possible.

 

 

A busy schedule stops her dwelling on the grave danger that lurks beyond the gates of Winterfell, stops her mind wandering to the gruesome deaths her family may be facing.

 

 

Her mother used to tell her to have patience in all things, she wonders how the woman would cope with this, sitting while thousands died.

 

 

Patience for death is something Sansa had long ago perfected.

 

 

She misses her mother, she longs for someone to tell her it will be alright, even if they are empty words.

 

 

Baelish seems to be reveling in the fact that this war could wipe out the most prominent houses, leaving just Sansa and Cersei.

 

 

Another thing that busying herself with small folk does; is keep her mind far away from Daenerys.

 

 

Guilt plagues her almost constantly for their last conversation, she hadn’t meant to get so angry. She isn’t even sure why she was, perhaps it was apprehension about the war, or simply exhaustion from Baelish’s games?

 

 

She knows it doesn’t matter, she had essentially implied Daenerys was worse than Cersei, which…Sansa knows couldn’t be further from the truth.

 

 

She lets out a tiny sigh from her place in the meeting room and attempts to stretch her muscles without moving too much; its futile, Baelish heard her sigh from his place at her side.

 

 

Always at her side.

 

 

“Perhaps we should take a break Lady Stark?” He says, his voice dipping into that soft tone that make Sansa’s skin crawl, the title felt lovelier, coming from Daenerys, Sansa can’t help but think.

 

 

“That won’t be necessary Lord Baelish.” Sansa manages to say without gritting her teeth too much.

 

 

Surely an achievement nowadays.

 

 

“The North needs you to be at your best.” Baelish replies, smirking.

 

 

Sansa finds herself wanting to slap the smirk off his face but manages to hold her nerve.

 

 

She is almost thankful when she hears a commotion outside, causing her to rise quickly.

 

 

She follows the noise to the courtyard, where to her relief, she sees Arya leading a group of battered, but mostly triumphant soldiers. Before Sansa can register her own movements, she has thrown herself at her sister, embracing her tightly, breathing a slight sigh of relief.

 

 

To her surprise, and worry, Arya reciprocates her embrace, burying her head in Sansa’s furs, she feels the brief relief drain away, leaving only dread.

 

 

She pulls back quickly, trying to search her sister’s face for signs of what could have happened, before scanning the crowd of soldiers. She recognizes Grey Worm, the soldier that leads the unsullied army, embracing Missandei and seemingly frantically informing her and Tyrion of something.

 

 

She sees Jaime and Brienne limp in together, looking worse for wear, more dread clogs her throat as her eyes go past Gendry, who’s eyes remain on the back of Arya’s head.

 

 

Three of the most notable figures haven’t returned, Sansa feels the blood rush to her head, panic taking over.

 

 

“Where are they?” she breathes, and for a moment she wonders if her sister will hear her.

 

 

Arya shakes her head softly and Sansa feels her legs give out, she wants to scream, but no sound comes out.

 

 

This isn’t how it’s supposed to be _._ She thinks, over and over.

 

 

They were together again, in their home, it was supposed to be better.

 

 

Her hands circle around her stomach, attempting to hold herself together, she feels, in that moment, as though she’s brittle, she’s sure if somebody touched her, she’d splinter and crack.

 

 

How many times can a person rebuild themselves? She thinks hollowly, what’s left for me to rebuild for?

 

 

Arya is kneeling in front of her then, she’s saying something, but Sansa can’t hear over the roar of blood in her ears. Gendry seems to kneel too; he’s speaking to Arya.

 

 

“Sansa.” Arya tries again, in a soft tone Sansa wasn’t sure she was capable of. “We don’t know what happened, do you understand? They might not be dead.”

 

 

It should be a relief, it isn’t, she remembers vividly the purgatory of waiting for news of Robb and their mother, days of agonizing pain. Every time Joffrey called her into the throne room, she was convinced it would be to tell her of their deaths.

 

 

She doesn’t want to be patient.

 

 

Everyone says death is fast, Sansa disagrees, death is slow and agonizing, even when it’s over, it doesn’t feel truly over.

 

 

Her father’s death felt like hours, as did Joffrey’s, no matter how much relief it brought her.

 

 

Robb’s death was slow, she knew, from the moment his wife and child died, his death began, her mother’s death had been even slower.

 

 

Sansa thinks her death had started years ago. She wishes it was fast.

 

 

“They have the dragons Sansa; they’ll be back soon.” Arya assures her, or perhaps she’s just trying to reassure herself.

 

 

Sansa finds it hard to remain optimistic when the world has taken so much from them already.

 

 

She feels Brienne’s arms around her guiding her back into the meeting room, the others follow close behind. She is glad Baelish seems suitably put off by Brienne’s glare to try and be by her side.

 

 

She feels completely numb as they explain what had happened, Jon, Daenerys and Bran had taken the dragons to battle Viserion and the Night King.

 

 

It wasn’t clear what had happened, but suddenly all the white walkers had fallen. They had waited and searched for the trio to no avail. Arya and Grey worm had made the call to return the troops to Winterfell.

 

 

Neither looked very happy about it when they retold the story.

 

 

Sansa wants to feel hope, but dragons travel faster than a battered army, if they were alive, they’d be back by now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so *spoiler for 8x03 of GOT*, I liked how their battle ended better than this, but for plot, angst and avoiding a mediocre battle scene....this is what we've got....
> 
> This cliff hanger probably won't last very long, so expect an update soon.


	8. Denial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I said sorry for angst, but this is more angst....

It takes four days.

 

 

Four days in which Sansa refuses to leave her chambers. Its reckless, she knows.

 

 

The Northern lords are looking to her to lead, even if they are still deluding themselves into believing Jon will return.

 

 

The remains of the Dothraki and unsullied army are still in the grounds, Tyrion seems to become more restless as well, he’s tried to visit Sansa every day.

 

 

Its only by chance that she sees it; she’s sitting at her desk, attempting to draft some sort of speech about Jon’s disappearance.

 

 

She simply happens to look up at the right time, to see a dragon in the distance.

 

 

A tiny bubble of hope pushes at her mind as it appears the beast is being ridden.

 

 

Suddenly feeling more energy than she had since the armies left for beyond the wall, Sansa sprints down to the courtyard in time to see many others looking up at the sky in hope, wonder or fear.

 

 

Drogon, as it is obviously him when he gets closer, lands heavily in the courtyard. The people mostly seem to have the good grace to back away.

 

Sansa finds herself stepping forward, as does Arya.

 

 

She almost chokes on her own relief at seeing Jon, his face was bloodied, he looks grief stricken and exhausted, but he was alive.

 

 

Arya and Sansa seemed to move in sync to embrace their brother before he could even take a step away from Drogon.

 

 

Sansa felt tears prick her eyes before she pulls away to look behind Jon, panic rising up as she notes Bran's absence.

 

 

Daenerys stood a few paces away.

 

 

Sansa will think later that stand is a strong word, she sways gently, heavily leaning on Missandei from the moment she dismounts.

 

 

Jon tries to detach himself, desperately trying to communicate something.

 

 

He doesn’t get the chance before Daenerys falls, its only then, when her blood colours the remaining snow, does Sansa realise how injured the woman is.

 

* * *

 

 

Its hours later when Sansa finally has all the information.

 

 

The three of them had defeated the Night King at great personal cost, two dead dragons, a spear through Daenerys’ shoulder and Bran.

 

 

Sansa takes in a sharp breath.

 

 

Bran’s life.

 

 

Whatever was left of the Bran they knew in any case. The haunted look in Jon’s eye makes Sansa think there’s more to it, but knowing her brother is dead is horrifying enough for one day.

 

 

All of the Maesters were busy with the constant flow of wounded, but, Arya, with her extensive training in the House of Black and White, had managed to stop the bleeding and sew up the wound.

 

 

A joke about her finally sewing like mother had always wanted dies on Sansa’s tongue.

 

 

The Dragon Queen lays in her bed, writhing in pain, they had used up all their medicine on the injured soldiers.

 

 

Sansa considers begging Brienne to travel to a Maester that lives not far to obtain anything to help with the pain, but the woman is recovering from her own injuries.

 

 

In the coming weeks her room never has less than two people in it, even Arya stands, a stoic presence in the corner occasionally.

 

 

Sansa thinks perhaps they all feel united in their sense of hopelessness.

 

 

The silence is choking, but what happens when she speaks is far worse. Daenerys begs more than once to die, she sobs out the words while her body shakes, the skin around the wound feels like ice. Arya, Missandei and Sam don’t seem to know why, but it concerns them, that much is obvious.

 

 

While the injury was bad, they all seem unanimous that it should be improving by now.

 

 

 

Despite sustaining the least injuries, Jon isn’t faring much better, he barely sleeps or eats, his eyes look hollow as he watches Daenerys scream for death.

 

 

One night, when it is only Sansa and himself, he breaks down, dropping to his knees, as though he was in prayer.

 

 

He speaks through sobs, explaining that Bran had returned to himself just long enough to realise he was dying. He had called out for Jon, no longer sounding like the three eyed Raven, just Bran.

 

 

Jon had been so distracted and distraught he hadn’t noticed the Night King’s spear was flying towards him until Daenerys had stepped in front of it.

 

 

Sansa tries to comfort him, to tell him it wasn’t his fault, she’s not sure how much he hears.

 

 

Its three weeks before Sansa gets a moment alone at Daenerys’ bedside, Tyrion practically forced Missandei and Grey Worm to rest, the two of them rarely agreeing to leave the room.

 

 

Jon had spent all day in meetings with the Northern lords, so Arya had forced him into taking a walk with her.

 

 

Everyone else was simply scattered, all too tired to be around the pained cries of the Dragon Queen.

 

  

Sansa feels not for the first time as though she’s out of place, they were friends, she was sure of that; but she doesn’t understand her own desire to stay by Daenerys’ side as much as she does.

 

 

Still, she sits at the woman’s bedside, in quiet vigil, her hand itches to hold Daenerys’, or perhaps touch the wound, as she had seen her sister and Missandei do so often.

 

 

She’s not that brave.

 

 

Sansa bows her head gently and tries to push down the emotions when she hears Daenerys whimper softly.

 

It only takes a few moments of her pained cries before Sansa caves in, she gently laces her fingers through Daenerys’, she sighs at the feeling of Daenerys’ slightly calloused hand in her own. It’s almost relaxing.

 

 

It seems to comfort Daenerys as well, as for a moment her cries are silenced.

 

 

 “So much for not doing anything stupidly heroic.” Sansa whispers softly, almost smiling.

 

 

They aren’t sure if she can hear them, sometimes she seems to attempt to respond; other times it’s as though the woman thinks she’s somewhere else completely.

 

 

Wherever she thinks she is in those moments, it doesn’t seem pleasant.

 

 

 Sansa isn’t sure if its stress, sleep deprivation or grief but she swears she feels Daenerys’ fingers twitch in her hand.

 

 

“I didn’t mean it,” Sansa starts, before she can register what she is saying. “You could never be like Cersei,” Sansa feels tears prick her eyes again. “Which is why you can’t lay around here for much longer.” She lets out a watery laugh. “I know I said Kings Landing was ugly, but this is an extreme length to delay moving there.”

 

 

She gently moves a stray hair out from Daenerys’ face, her violet eyes staring into her own. Which isn’t new, her eyes are often open, but there is a lucidity to her gaze that makes Sansa shift in her seat.

 

 

It’s as though she knows exactly where she is.

 

 

Sansa allows her finger to trace down Daenerys’ cheek before she drops them back onto her lap, she begins to pull her other hand from Daenerys’. The bed ridden woman seems to have other ideas as she chases Sansa’s hand with her own, letting out a series of pained grunts caused by the movement.

 

 

“I’m sorry.” Daenerys’ voice is so quiet that Sansa is sure a strong gust of wind could have prevented her from hearing it, in fact, a small part of her wonders if she had hallucinated it.

 

 

Sansa shakes her head, trying to convey that Daenerys doesn’t have to be sorry.

 

“For Bran.” Daenerys manages to rasp out before Sansa shakes her head again, willing away the tears that always seem to be one word away now.

 

 

She focuses on getting Daenerys to drink something, ignoring the sympathy in her eyes.

 

 

“I have to fetch Missandei.” Sansa whispers, making no effort to move.

 

 

Daenerys manages to nod her head in reply before Sansa slowly rises from her seat, clearly reluctant to leave.

 

 


	9. Aftermath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So lots of things happened in 8x04 and this will pretty much ignore all of them, so I suppose we are totally leaving canon behind now? Even more so than before! 
> 
> This is a slightly longer chapter than usual, just to pick up the pace and fill in some plot! Much less angst! 
> 
> I hope you all enjoy!

Daenerys improves massively after that night; nobody is quite sure why.

 

 

Daenerys is simply glad she can get out of bed again.

 

 

She doesn’t remember much of what happened, only the agony on Jon’s face as Bran called for him, the terror as she realised the spear would strike her nephew and the blinding pain of being hit.

 

 

Most of all she remembers the cold, cold like she’s never felt before, seeping into every part of her body, causing unimaginable pain.

 

 

 She remembers wishing for death.

 

 

And Sansa Stark, she remembers her sitting at her bedside, she remembers her gently taking her hand.

 

 

Tyrion fills her in as much as possible on the political developments. Mostly, that he feels they may have overstayed their welcome, and that Jon is far too polite to say that they simply don’t have the resources to sustain the north, the free folk and her armies.

 

 

Another war to fight.

 

 

Daenerys knows she is in no position to complain; this is the life she chose.

 

 

Jon helps her recover, as best he can, with Missandei. The wound itself is troubling, a permanent cold spot, but other than that her health improves.

 

 

She knows her days in Winterfell are numbered. Tyrion and Grey Worm have prepared the armies to move within the next few days, much of the snow melted when the Night King was destroyed so their path is clear.

 

 

Daenerys wants to ask more than once about Jaime, but she supposes Tyrion will explain whenever he’s ready.

 

 

A tentative knock on her door breaks Daenerys from her thoughts, slowly, as that’s how she has to move now, she rises to answer. She supposes she should be less surprised to see her nephew on the other side, a little part of her had hoped it would be Sansa, she had rarely seen her since she had awoken.

 

 

 She ushers the man in and notes the awkwardness of his stance, he wrings his hand gently in front of him and shifts from foot to foot.

 

 

“Something the matter?” Daenerys asks, gesturing for them to sit at the small table by the window.

 

 

“I told them.” Jon replies, his face blank.

 

 

He doesn’t need to explain further; it had occupied enough of their conversations.

 

 

“How did it go?”

 

 

“It went…as well as could be expected, they were upset I didn’t tell them before.” He pauses, as though he isn’t sure if he should share the next part. “They think I want the throne.” Jon lets out a humorless laugh Daenerys wish she could join in on.

 

 

“And do you?” She asks, not for the first time.

 

 

It was a sore subject, Jon had insisted he hadn’t, that ruling Westeros was the last thing he wanted, but Daenerys knows he’d be a good king, if not a little naïve politically.

 

 

He’d be fair and honourable and the throne was technically his by rights.

 

 

“I didn’t think I’d survive the war.” Jon sighs. “I haven’t had the luxury of planning a future in a long time.”

 

 

He looks out of the window reflectively, and Daenerys wonders whether it’s the Stark or Targaryen blood that makes him so predisposed to the dramatic.

 

 

She hides a smile at her nephew’s ever serious disposition before pushing him to his point.

 

 

“And now?”

 

 

“Winterfell is my home; I don’t want to be king of anything.” Jon smiles at her as he says it, and Daenerys breathes a sigh of relief, even if in her heart she had known the answer.  "Nobody has to know."

 

 

“What did they think of that?” Daenerys can’t help but question.

 

 

“They said it was my choice, that Winterfell would always be my home.” Jon shrugs, before taking a drink of wine.

 

 

Despite his aloofness Daenerys knows how much that acceptance means to him, it warms her heart to know he is so loved here.

 

 

“Then, who shall rule the North if you have retired yourself?” Daenerys says, taking a large gulp of her own wine, wincing slightly at how even the slight weight of the cup makes her shoulder scream.

 

 

Jon, to his credit, manages to avoid the wine spurting out of his nose, but that’s about all the dignity he manages.

 

 

Daenerys has to stifle a laugh at his shock.

 

 

 “I don’t understand?” Jon coughs.

 

 

“A trait of a good queen is knowing when you have made a mistake and admitting it.” Daenerys starts. “I cannot rule the north Jon; it belongs to the Starks and the northern people.”

 

 

When she was younger, Daenerys would visit a lake that was filled with fish that had large gaping mouths that would gulp down water, she cannot help but compare her nephew to those fish in that moment, as his mouth hung open in shock.

 

 

“Right.” He replies suddenly, seemingly regaining his bearings. “Good!”

 

 

Daenerys does laugh then.

 

 

“Do you think your sisters would be alright with that?” She inquires softly.

 

 

“I think they will be delighted.” Jon replies, grinning.

 

 

Daenerys was glad she could grant their family even a tiny bit of peace.

 

* * *

 

It is the night before Daenerys’ departure when Sansa finally sees her again, she had debating not going at all in truth, more than slightly irritated that neither her nor Jon deemed it important to inform them of his parentage.

 

 

Jon would always be her brother, she had no doubt about that, but families needed to trust each other, that’s what Jon had told her.

 

 

And yet nobody had trusted her with the information that Jon was a Targaryen. It made her assumption about Daenerys being infatuated with him even more ridiculous.

 

 

If Sansa was honest with herself, their bond made her jealous, she had fought so hard to regain a connection with Jon and Arya, but it came easy between Jon and Daenerys.

 

 

But she couldn’t put this off any longer, especially not after Jon had told them Daenerys had given them the North.

 

 

Sansa’s first instinct had been to roll her eyes and say she couldn’t give them something that she never had in the first place, but then Jon’s words had sunk in and she’d only felt such a relief a handful of times.

 

 

When the Dragon queen finally does open the door, Sansa is certain she’s never seen her smile so brightly.

 

 

The woman practically pulls her inside and ushers her to sit beside her on the bed. Sansa is struck again at how the familiarity should be inappropriate.

 

 

“To what do I owe the pleasure Lady Stark?” she asks softly, her eyes gleaming in the low light of the room.

 

 

Sansa is struck again by the woman’s beauty and has to swallow down the feelings she refuses to name bubbling in her throat.

 

 

“I wanted to wish you luck.” Sansa replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

 

 

“You are most kind, I must say I hope I do not need it.”

 

 

A small smile tugs at Sansa’s lips then, before a more serious look passes over her features.

 

 

“She’s done awful things; I have faith you will do better.” Sansa tries to speak clearly, properly as her mother taught her, what feels like centuries ago now. “I hope our kingdoms never know war again.”

 

 

Daenerys nods before gently taking Sansa’s hand, the woman attempts to hide the blush that creeps up her cheeks at the intimate gesture.

 

 

She can’t help but notice how soft the Daenerys’ features are in that moment, lit lowly by the dwindling fire in her room. The gesture makes butterflies erupt in Sansa’s stomach, and for a moment, she imagines they were not two noble women, one on the edge of a war, the other recovering from one, in that moment Sansa wished they could simply be ordinary.

 

 

 

“I do hope one day we won’t have to constantly speak of death and war my lady.” Daenerys chuckles.

 

 

Sansa looked down at their joined hands, still smiling, with a warm feeling blossoming in her chest.

 

 

She suddenly noticed their proximity, Sansa was close enough now to see the dark specs in Daenerys’ otherwise vibrant eyes, she could feel the other woman’s breath on her cheek.

 

 

For a moment, Sansa is brave.

 

 

She leans forward slightly, and slowly, her lips brush Daenerys’ cheek, close to the corner of her mouth. The other woman seems to let out a heavy sigh, her grip on Sansa’s hand becoming a little tighter.

 

 

Sansa pulls ways reluctantly, not meeting Daenerys’ eyes as she does so.

 

 

“I will pray for your victory.” Sansa whispers, rising to leave.

 

 

“Thank you, Lady Stark.” Daenerys breathes before the door closes quietly.

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys wishes she could say the battle wasn’t long, she wishes she’d lost fewer men to gaining the throne.

 

 

She wishes a lot of things, even now.

 

 

Cersei remains imprisoned in the black cells, awaiting a trial, Daenerys often questions whether it would have been better to kill her on the spot.

 

 

The ugly, jagged throne had been burnt by Drogon, the remains had melted down the keep’s steps for all of King’s Landing to see.

 

 

It was symbolic, she reminds Tyrion often.

 

 

She rather hoped it would break the curse of death for whoever ruled from it. In its place the Dragonstone throne sits.

 

 

The queen sits on it now, as smallfolk and nobles alike come to air their grievances; lack of food, fleabottom reconstruction disrupting trade, farming disputes.

 

 

Daenerys had imagined ruling much since her youth, she’d never imagined there to be so much talk of who’s livestock can go where.

 

 

Its tiring, to say the least.

 

 

“My crops cannot be sustained if this man’s sheep keep using them to graze.” The farmer all but shouts.

 

 

Daenerys pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to quell the rapidly forming headache, pulling her cloak around her as a particularly cold breeze seems to sweep through the room.

 

 

“I cannot control where the sheep go, and he will not help pay for a fence!” The other man replies, puffing his chest out.

 

 

“I’ve never needed a fence!”

 

 

“Enough.” Daenerys snaps, making the room fall silent. “The crown will provide the wood; I trust two capable men such as yourselves can build the fence?”

 

 

Both men nod like scolded children before bowing and leaving.

 

 

“I believe the Queen may need a short recess.” Tyrion announces, casting Daenerys a concerned look. “Any time sensitive concerns can be addressed to myself or her capable advisors.”

 

 

The court begins to mumble amongst themselves while Daenerys exits the throne room quickly, lest she be waylaid by another well-meaning lord trying to solve a dispute or court her, as many have been attempting to do in her four months of ruling.

 

 

Sometimes, a tiny part of her wishes they could just pick a lord and get it over with, at least then she’d only have one irritating man to contend with.

 

 

The palace is hosting a peace celebration over the next week, so there seems to be even more of them around than usual. They mostly seem harmless, but being a Queen requires her to pretend to be interested when they discuss themselves.

 

 

Daenerys flops down on the divan as soon as she enters her chambers and internally groans when Tyrion enters only a moment later.

 

 

“I thought you were ready to take concerns?” She sighs.

 

 

“I think Missandei, Jorah and Varys have that handled.” Tyrion replies, grabbing a glass of wine.

 

 

“You just don’t like doing it.”

 

 

“Well it’s hard to match your enthusiasm for agricultural disputes, your grace.” Tyrion teases.

 

 

Daenerys simply rolls her eyes, a small amount of tension leaving her shoulders at the man’s jesting.

 

 

“I saw Grey Worm on the way here, he said preparations for your Royal tour are almost complete.” Tyrion continues.

 

 

Ah yes, the very event Daenerys was dreading.

 

 

Following the celebrations of peace, Daenerys had planned to tour the kingdoms of Westeros, ending with a visit to the North.

 

 

An outreach to their neighbors, Tyrion had said. At the time it seemed like a wonderful idea, the Starks had of course, welcomed the idea as well.

 

 

But as time went on Daenerys has become more worried, she had spent the last four months desperately trying to distract herself from her last interactions with Sansa Stark, not to mention that her nephew simply refuses to travel south.

 

 

Not that she can blame him, Sansa had been right, King’s Landing, while beautiful, was not always a comfortable place to live. Even more so now Daenerys was reconstructing all of ‘fleabottom’ to make it slightly more livable.

 

 

Progress was slow.

 

 

Honestly, she simply wished the keep felt more like home.

 

 

“Very good.” Daenerys mumbles distractedly.

 

 

“I also saw Edmund Ambrose, he wishes to have a meeting, he seems rather taken with you.” Tyrion says, casting Daenerys a curious glance.

 

 

Daenerys picks up her own wine, barely registering Tyrion’s words, her mind whirling with the possibilities of being around the Starks again, perhaps she should bring gifts?

 

 

“But of course, we cannot discount suitors from the Westerlands, Edgard Hawthorn has shown great interest in you.” Tyrion continues.

 

 

Daenerys doesn’t notice his growing impatience with her lack of attention and simply lets out a non-committal “hmm.”

 

 

“Or perhaps further, to one of the independent kingdoms, I’m sure the remains of House Martell would be happy to send some suitors.” The man sighs dramatically. “Maybe a lovely Northern husband would hold your attention better. Or maybe we can see if any white walkers survived.”

 

 

Daenerys simply nods.

 

 

“Daenerys.” Tyrion says, heavily putting his wine down to catch the woman’s attention. She finally looks up and shifts slightly in her seat, looking rather like a guilty child than a queen. “Have you heard a word I have said?”

 

 

The confused look is only on her face for a moment until she straightens her back and juts her chin out defiantly.

 

 

“Something about marrying me to some dull Lord I assume?” a slight mischief sparkles in her eyes as she speaks, and Tyrion can’t help but laugh.

 

 

“They’d be insulted if they heard that, your grace.”

 

 

“Find me someone interesting then.” Daenerys replies.

 

 

Tyrion lets out another laugh, before a moment of comfortable silence passes between the pair.

 

 

“I’m sure Jon will be happy to see you.” Tyrion speaks suddenly, when Daenerys looks confused, he continues. “I assume that is what has you driven to distraction.” He explains.

 

 

Daenerys frowns, she’s sure she used to be much better at concealing her worries. The only conciliation was that he had only been half right; she was worried about Jon, but she did not fear his company half as much as the other Starks she would be seeing.

 

 

“I know.” She says, attempting to wipe her face of any emotion.

 

 

“Ah, so you’re worried about the sisters.” Tyrion concludes.

 

 

“Sansa Stark has made her distaste for southern queens quite clear…” Daenerys starts.

 

 

“She seemed to like you well enough on our last visit.” Tyrion interrupts, casting her a knowing glance that she ignores.

 

 

“And Arya is…” Daenerys pauses, trying to find the right words.

 

 

“Fucking terrifying?” Tyrion replies, grinning.

 

 

“I was going to say a little odd. But yes, she is rather fucking terrifying.”

 

 

Tyrion lets out another laugh.

 

 

“I’m sure a dragon should not fear wolves.” He says finally.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys lets out a breath and allows the noise of the great hall to fade into the background, wincing again at the coldness of the room.

 

 

How Cersei ever managed to heat this place was beyond her. It was just another thing that served to remind her of the unfamiliarity of her own home. 

 

 

Tyrion is off flirting with a lady, Missandei and Grey Worm preoccupied with each other as usual.

 

 

Which leaves the Queen sitting with Edmund Ambrose while he discusses the intricacies of horticulture with her. It takes all of her will to seem interested. He refills her wine glass while sending her what she’s sure is meant to be a charming smile.

 

 

His smile only lasts a moment before Edgard Hawthorn approaches and asks for a dance, she forces a smile of her own and follows the man to the floor.

 

 

Edgard, just like Edmund, is charming and sweet but ultimately boring.

 

 

“You are an excellent dancer, your grace.” Edggar observes, his southern accent soft to the ear.

 

 

“You sound surprised my lord.” Daenerys rebuffs, hoping it sounds flirtatious enough.

 

 

She prays the party ends soon, they start their royal tour tomorrow and she’s restless enough as it is.

 

 

The man sputters slightly, and she resists the urge to roll her eyes, instead she just laughs, and the man seems to relax.

 

 

“I must confess dancing has always been somewhat of a passion.” Edgard says conversationally. “I taught my sisters after my mother taught me.” He seems to smile at the memory and Daenerys tries not to cringe.

 

 

It all felt very much like deception, entertaining these men when she had no interest in them.

 

 

She had no idea how to tell anyone that love was the furthest thing from her mind just now. 

 

 

She supposes that doesn't matter, this wasn't about love. 

 

 

“I only learnt rather recently.” Daenerys confesses, looking over the man's shoulder to where Grey Worm and Missandei were swaying gently.

 

 

The scene causes a genuine smile to overtake her face.

 

 

“You cannot tell your grace.” He replies, offering her a kind smile.

 

 

The song ends shortly after and Daenerys takes the opportunity to excuse herself.

 

 

She slumps against a pillar just out of sight in a very un-queen like manner, allowing her shoulders to slump for just a moment. She seemed to have a constant headache these days, she rubs her temples in an attempt to quell the throbbing to no avail.

 

 

She almost groans when she hears footsteps approaching until Missandei comes into view, a tentative smile on her face.

 

 

Daenerys finds herself smiling back, just a little.  

 

 

“Are you alright your grace?” Missandei asks, her voice as gentle as ever.

 

 

“Perfectly fine.” Daenerys replies, biting back a sigh. “I just needed a break.”

 

 

Missandei nods and after a moment leans against the pillar with Daenerys.

 

 

“I'm sure everyone would understand if you wanted to retire for the evening?” Missandei proposes, nudging Daenerys encouragingly with her shoulder.

 

 

“I think Tyrion is growing rather tired of explaining my absences to the lords that are trying to court me.” Daenerys jokes, shooting her friend a sad smile.

 

 

“Do you not…find them appealing your grace?” Missandei enquires softly.

 

 

Daenerys almost laughs.

 

 

“They are quite alright.” She whispers softly, aware the walls have ears, even now. “Simply not….” She trails off, but Missandei understands, as always.

 

 

“What you want.” Missandei surmises.

 

 

Daenerys nods and clears her throat.

 

 

“Still, you seemed to be enjoying yourself.” She teases. “Who knew Grey Worm was such a good dancer?”

 

 

Missandei laughs.

 

 

“He asked me to teach him, but I don't…” Missandei twists her hands together in a move Daenerys recognises as self-conscious. “Nobody taught me.” She finishes.

 

 

Daenerys places her hands over the other woman's and squeezes them supportively. 

 

 

“I think you did a fine job.” She says. “But if you would like a teacher, I’m sure I could find one.” Daenerys laughs to herself a little “In fact I think Edgard would be positively thrilled to help.”

 

 

“No, I think we will manage your grace, but thank you.” Missandei smiles.

 

 

Daenerys doesn't blame her, she hasn't quite adjusted to all this courtly etiquette yet, it must be much harder for the couple that never imagined this in their future until recently.

 

 

Daenerys' eyes wander back to the party and see Edgard and Edmund looking around curiously.

 

 

“Perhaps I will retire.” Daenerys says thoughtfully. “We must be on the road bright and early tomorrow.”

 

 

Daenerys pushes herself off the pillar and takes a moment to regain her composure, her regal mask clicking back into place.

 

 

“Would you like me to accompany you to your rooms your grace?” Missandei asks, already stepping forward.

 

 

“No, no. It’s quite alright.” Daenerys replies, reaching out and squeezing Missandei's arm. “I shall bid my guests goodnight and see you in the morning.” She gives her friend a smile, hoping it doesn't betray her tiredness too much. “Do try and enjoy the rest of the party." She says, winking before walking back into the hall, hoping goodnights would be short.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about making the parentage reveal and war with Cersei bigger but honestly...I just didn't to have so much of that angst. 
> 
> Also I can't believe it took this long for Sansa and Daenerys to get close to kissing...


	10. Family Dinners

Sansa smoothed her hands over her dress, trying to quell her nerves as she stood in Winterfell’s courtyard with her siblings.

 

 

 Arya bounced on her feet, restlessly.

 

 

Daenerys had been sending Jon ravens throughout her tour, assuring him they were still on track to arrive today.

 

 

Which had led to Sansa barely getting any sleep.

 

 

She wishes she could say it was because this meeting was important, not just for northern independence and southern relations; but for Jon. Sansa knows he’s been communicating with his aunt as regularly as possible, tentatively asking about his father.

 

 

Sansa supposes it can’t be easy, particularly as Daenerys didn’t know the man any more than Jon did.

 

 

But no, while all of that was undoubtedly important, her nerves were for far more personal reasons.

 

 

It had been so long since she had let herself have a friend; she had Arya and Brienne, but it was hardly the same thing. Arya would always be her sister, as Brienne would always be her protector.

 

 

But Daenerys was her friend, just her friend, she asserted to herself. It was exciting and nerve-racking all at once.

 

 

If her siblings had noticed her odd energy of late, they hadn’t commented on it.

 

Sansa finds herself smiling when she sees Drogon flying overhead just as the queen’s carriage finally pulls up, with a significantly smaller entourage than last time.

 

 

Jon hastily goes to greet his aunt with a hug before sending a smile and a nod to Grey Worm and Missandei where they stood next to their queen.

 

 

Daenerys steps forward, towards Sansa and Arya slowly, a ghost of a smile crossing her face.

 

 

“Queen Sansa.” Daenerys whispers softly, an unreadable look in her eyes.

 

 

The title still feels foreign, no matter how often she hears it, but the softness in her tone causes butterflies to erupt in Sansa's stomach, she doesn't want to think too much into that.

 

 

“Queen Daenerys.” Sansa greets, bowing her head slightly.

 

 

She swears she hears Arya scoff beside her, she has to resist the urge to elbow her, it’s hardly a queenly thing to do.

 

 

When she raises her head again the smile on Daenerys' face that greets her has grown tenfold. The women hold eye contact for a moment longer, before Arya clears her throat loudly.

 

 

“Your grace.” The younger girl says loudly, a smirk printed across her face.

 

 

Sansa swears she sees Daenerys jump slightly.

 

 

“Lady Stark, it is lovely to see you.” Daenerys replies.

 

 

Arya scowls at the title and seems ready to let Daenerys know her feelings but Jon interrupts promptly.

 

 

“Perhaps we should go inside.” He casts a look to the group of lords that has gathered, looking curiously at Daenerys. “We have rooms set up for your men.” Jon nods to Pod, who steps forward, offering to show the few men up to their chambers.

 

 

Daenerys loops her arm around Jon's, dismissing her entourage with a small hand gesture.

 

 

“A wonderful idea, we have much to catch up on.” 

 

 

Her men follow Pod leaving only the queen, Missandei and Grey worm, as neither seemed particularly eager to leave her side. 

 

 

Despite being excited to see the queen, Sansa and Arya had agreed to allow Jon and Daenerys some time alone.

 

 

“I do apologize your grace, but myself and Arya have some matters to attend to, I’m sure we will see you for dinner.” Sansa explains.

 

 

A flicker of something akin to disappointment seems to cross Daenerys' face, but it’s gone before Sansa can fully register it.

 

 

“I do hope so.” Daenerys replies before Jon leads her away.

 

* * *

 

“You will behave at dinner, won't you?” Sansa asks, her eyes not lifting from the letter she was writing.

 

 

She doesn't need to look to know Arya rolls her eyes.

 

 

“When do I not behave?” she asks indigently.

 

 

Sansa does look up then and simply raises her eyebrows at her sister, standing by the door as she often does, despite Sansa's insistence that she needn't bother.

 

 

“She called me Lady Stark!” Arya protests before Sansa can even respond.

 

 

And, alright, in fairness to Arya that had been odd to hear, not least because last time Daenerys had been here that had been Sansa's title. Daenerys had always said it with such affection towards Sansa so, hearing her say it to Arya had thrown her off.

 

 

Sansa shakes her head in an attempt to rid herself of such thoughts.

 

 

That isn't what Arya meant.

 

 

“That is your title, I'm sure she didn't mean to offend.” Sansa replies, turning her efforts back to her letter for Lord Baelish.

 

 

Arya huffed in a way that was almost uncharacteristic of the collected woman that had returned to Winterfell.

 

 

“When have I ever been a lady?”

 

 

Sansa supposes that is true, she had always been wild and categorically not a courtly lady.

 

 

“Would you rather she calls you Ser?” Sansa asks, frowning down at the uncompleted letter.

 

 

“Don't be stupid.” Arya snaps and Sansa grins a little.

 

 

“I could have your head for that.” She jokes before a small cushion hits her squarely on the back of the head.

 

 

 

“My apologies your grace.” Arya drawls sarcastically.

 

 

Before Sansa can retort, a soft knock echoes through the room and Arya has opened the door before Sansa can stand.

 

 

Brienne stands in the doorway, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword as she glances between the sisters, a slight look of fondness on her features.

 

 

“Your Grace, Arya.” She addresses, and Arya’s mouth lifts slightly. “Commander Snow has requested your presence for dinner.”

 

 

Sansa suppresses the urge to roll her eyes but stands, nonetheless.

 

 

“Surely fetching us is not one of your duties Brienne?” She teases, watching as Brienne awkwardly coughs.

 

 

“We can debate that later.” Arya cuts in. “It’s time for dinner.”

 

 

She walks out before either woman can comment.

* * *

 

 

Dinner is a largely subdued affair, surprisingly, Arya does behave, and the air is mostly filled with Jon and Daenerys conversing.

 

 

Grey Worm and Missandei are fairly quiet. Jon attempts to engage them, rather stiffly and Sansa thinks perhaps she should be trying harder, but she's become significantly less proficient in small talk. She catches Daenerys looking at her, more than once, and fights down a blush.

 

 

Sansa revels in the quiet, having come to enjoy the comfort of simply existing with her family. For a moment she is not weighted down with queenly duties or worries about the unanswered ravens from Baelish.

 

 

“I've heard many wonderful things about High Garden this time of year your grace, I trust you enjoyed your visit?” Jon asks, the grin on his face as vibrant as when they'd sat down, even if his eyes had a hint of something Sansa couldn't recognise.

 

 

She wonders what they'd spoken about in their absence.

 

 

“I did nephew, their flowers certainly rival your own.” The queen replies.

 

 

“I'm surprised anything could grow after the reports I heard.” Arya quips stabbing a vegetable and locking eyes with Daenerys as she did so. “Your children had quite the effect.”

 

 

Ah, well it had been going too smoothly.

 

 

An awkward silence hangs over the table, far more choking than a moment ago.

 

 

Sansa finds an odd compulsion to defend Daenerys for a moment, which is frankly confusing, she had heard the reports of that battle, how truly gruesome it had been.

 

 

In that moment though a horribly sad look crossed over Daenerys' features as her vibrant eyes glazed over, it made Sansa's heart ache in a way she wasn't accustomed to. It does only last a moment and then Daenerys has composed herself, if Sansa hadn't been paying attention, she would have missed it.

 

 

“Well, they seem to be recovering well, we sent as much aid as possible of course.” Daenerys explains, her voice level, her eyes never leaving Arya's.

 

 

Sansa isn't quite sure what's happening, but the women continue to hold each other’s gaze for a few moments. Sansa simply watches them, a part of her wants to look away, the room suddenly feels uncomfortable.

 

Arya eventually breaks eye contact, seemingly satisfied.

 

 

“Of course.” She replies before refocusing on her food.

 

 

It feels as though everyone around the table breathes a sigh of relief before Daenerys sends Sansa a tentative smile across the table that causes a blush to creep up her cheeks.

 

 

Dinner ends shortly after and Sansa is relieved it was relatively without issue, Arya seems to slip out before she can talk to her about what happened, but she reasons it was nothing really.

 

 

“Your Grace?” Daenerys' voice rings out almost melodically and Sansa has to suppress a smile before turning to answer.

 

 

“Is everything alright?” Sansa asks, noting Daenerys' unusually reserved stance.

 

 

“Of course.” Daenerys answers, her fingers twisting somewhat nervously together. “I only hoped you would have time to speak before bed.” She looks away almost bashfully as she finishes and Sansa smiles wider, completely endeared.

 

 

 

“Absolutely.” Sansa replies, trying not to think too much about the excited buzz that overtakes her at the prospect. “I'll have some tea sent to my rooms.”

 

 

Daenerys smiles and gestures for Sansa to lead the way.

 

* * *

 

 

The tea was quickly abandoned in place of wine as the two queens sat on the lavish fur rug of Sansa's chambers, next to the roaring fire.  Daenerys found the tension and worry over coming here drain away in the presence of Sansa Stark.

 

 

She reached out for more wine, enjoying the slight hazy feeling it was creating.

 

 

“He seems to be much more comfortable as a Queen's Guard than he ever was as king of the North.” Sansa finishes, smiling into her wine.

 

 

They were discussing Jon; Daenerys is sure Sansa noticed whatever tension hung over the air at dinner after their less than pleasant conversation.

 

 

It hadn't been Jon's fault of course, but their family ‘s past isn't something sure enjoys delving into, and Jon seems to have a never-ending line of questions.

 

 

“And Jaime? Tyrion tells me very little.” Daenerys asks, genuinely curious, and slightly exhausted by the topic of her nephew just now.

 

 

Sansa's face becomes much colder for a moment, before she regains her composure.

 

 

“He seems to be an asset to the night's watch.” She replies shortly.

 

 

Daenerys cannot begrudge her that, she doesn't take much interest in the man, but Tyrion has been oddly quiet about the whole thing, especially after they imprisoned Cersei.

 

 

“How is Tyrion?” Sansa asks after a few beats of silence.

 

 

“Willful as ever.” Daenerys chuckles. “He's not too pleased to be left dealing with building disputes in King's Landing, let alone all my potential husbands.”

 

 

Sansa chokes on her wine at that and Daenerys moves quickly to gently pat her back until the coughing subsides. She makes no attempt to move however, reveling in the way Sansa seems to lean into her touch.

 

 

“I didn't know you were to be married.” She says, slightly hoarsely.

 

 

“I'm surprised Jon didn't mention it.” Daenerys replies, she'd sent Jon countless letters complaining. “But yes, Tyrion believes it would help. A queen who people see as not familiar with the lands would benefit from a good westerosi husband.” She laughs, remembering Tyrion's words.

 

 

But, when she meets Sansa's gaze she realizes the other woman is not laughing, in fact, there is a sadness to her eyes that is familiar and strange all at once. She was beautiful, Daenerys couldn't help but think, but heartbreaking.

 

 

“I'm so sorry.” Sansa whispers softly, her voice so raw, her eyes so earnest that it nearly knocks the breath out of Daenerys.

 

 

She almost drops her hand from Sansa's back then, but in truth, the touch was all that was grounding her in that moment. She swallows before replying.

 

 

“You needn't be, my lady.” The words are just as quiet as Sansa's and she swears the other woman has moved closer.

 

 

“But I am.” Sansa utters the words, still quiet, but with such a forceful conviction and care that Daenerys feels off kilter.

 

 

Daenerys breaks eye contact and gently places her hand over Sansa's, enjoying the warm feeling it creates.

 

 

“Thank you.”

 

 

The women sit in comfortable silence for a moment, the only sound to be heard is the crackling of the fire and the wind outside.

 

 

“Are they…” Sansa begins before seemingly correcting herself. “Who have you left at the mercy of Lord Tyrion?” she seems to force a smile in Daenerys direction, her heart not quite in it.

 

 

“Edgar Hawthorn and Edmund Ambrose are the current favourites I believe.”

 

 

Sansa nods.

 

 

“Are they kind?” she asks, her voice a little shaky.

 

 

And, well, it throws Daenerys a little.

 

 

They were kind, she had observed that fairly quickly, but nobody had asked her such a question. She had seen Missandei and Grey Worm eyeing them on more than one occasion, and she supposes that Tyrion wouldn't suggest someone ghastly.

 

 

It was still an odd question, could Daenerys afford to be picky if they were unkind?

 

 

“Yes.” She answers finally. “I believe they are.”

 

 

Sansa offers her another smile, that still doesn’t reach her eyes.

 

 

“Edmund is from Highgarden…” Daenerys broaches gently.

 

 

Sansa tenses next to her for a moment but makes no moves away.

 

 

“Yes, so I’ve heard.” She replies her lips pressed thinly.

 

 

“I meant what I said at dinner, it really is quite lovely.”

 

 

“I’ve been told.” She says shortly and her voice possesses an edge Daenerys is unfamiliar with, but it suggests the conversation is not one Sansa wishes to have. “I’m surprised Lord Baelish hasn’t offered you a suitor.” She counters quickly, her voice still tired.

 

 

“It was quite a shock.” Daenerys agrees, trying not to feel too put out by the tension in the room. “Has he visited lately?”

 

 

Sansa’s face flickers with a slight expression of disgust, before she masks it again. Daenerys is silently pleased that she caught it.

 

 

“Not since my coronation.”

 

 

Daenerys seizes the opportunity to lighten the conversation.

 

 

“I must ardently apologize for not attending the event your grace.” She interjects, a teasing lilt to her voice.

 

 

Sansa seems to relax a little at that and takes a sip of her wine.

 

 

“Jon told me you were indisposed; it is quite alright.” She replies, a smile taking over her features. “I understand how time-consuming queenly duties are.”

 

 

“I should think I would have been much happier here though, your grace.” Daenerys says, her heart hammering in her chest at the omission. “I do hope it is not too forward for me to say I have missed your company Sansa.”

 

 

Sansa’s eyes cast down to their joined hands and Daenerys could swear she could see a blush creep up the other woman's neck.

 

 

“Not too forward at all.” Sansa looks up, a nervous look in her eyes. “I must confess…I’ve thought the same.” 

 

 

Daenerys feels herself lean slightly closer, excitement and anticipation bubbling up her throat.

 

 

“I'm glad to hear that.” Daenerys whispers, her eyes flicker to Sansa's lips for a moment.

 

 

For a moment, Daenerys feels as though Sansa will make the first move, as she did all those months ago before Daenerys had left for King's Landing.

 

 

But suddenly she glances away, clearing her throat and Daenerys tries not to feel too disappointed.

 

 

“Perhaps it is time I retire my lady.” Daenerys offers gently.

 

 

“Of course, your grace.” Sansa nods.

 

 

Daenerys squeezes Sansa's hands once more before slowly rising up.

 

 

“Goodnight Sansa.” Daenerys mumbles.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me, literally the writer: Please kiss?  
> Daenerys and Sansa: How 'bout we skate around our feelings instead? 
> 
> Also writing the Stark sisters is one of my favourite things


	11. Hostile Company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After that episode you guys deserve fluff and I feel so bad for instead giving you politics but next chapter is fluffy and I will attempt to post it ASAP. 
> 
> I would like to dedicate this chapter to Daenerys Targaryen, who I love. 
> 
> As always thanks for reading!!!!

Daenerys spent the entire next day attempting to run into Sansa with no luck. She had walked through Winterfell with Jon, trying to smooth over the awkward conversation of the previous day. Emotions were running high and Daenerys was tired of bringing up the past. He didn't seem too upset at her snapping. She had then taken a further walk with Missandei, through the halls and out into the courtyard, with no flash of red hair in sight. 

 

 

She walks back to her chambers, exhaustion weighing heavily on her shoulders, her body still not quite accustomed to the Northern chill. She opens the door and quickly throws her furs on to her bed, her fire still roaring in the corner of her room, heating it nicely.

 

 

She's so caught up in her own thoughts that she doesn't realise she is not alone.

 

 

A flicker of movement catches her eye as she pours herself a glass of wine, quelling the panic and shock, praying her hand doesn't shake.

 

 

“Arya.” She greets warmly.

 

 

The girl sits at the table closest to the window, her dagger twirls between her fingers as she watches Daenerys take a gulp of wine. A calculating look sits on her features.

 

 

“Your grace.” The younger woman greets, an eerie smile on her face that causes none of the warmth her sister's usually does.

 

 

Daenerys suddenly regrets telling Missandei to take an evening with Grey Worm, she resists the urge to fidget under the younger Stark’s gaze.

 

 

“What can I do for you?” She asks, offering a goblet of wine.  

 

Arya shakes her head before responding.

 

 

“I think it’s time we have a little chat, don't you?”

 

Daenerys pauses, before nodding and walking over to sit across from the younger Stark. Its difficult not to note how stiff the other woman looks, almost like a threatened animal ready to pounce.

 

 

Neither woman speaks and Daenerys finds the silence rather unbearable. It seems deliberate on Arya’s part; Daenerys almost laughs at the thought that perhaps she should bring her to negotiations in King's Landing; she would certainly intimidate the lords with petty disputes.

 

Any notion of humor slides away rather quickly when she meets the other woman’s eyes, boring into her, hard like steel.

 

 

“Do you know what they call my sister, your grace?” She finally speaks.

 

 

“I-" Daenerys begins before Arya cuts her off.

 

 

“Many names, I'm sure you've heard.” She continues. “She was a traitor, a captive, a fugitive, their lady and now their queen.”

 

 

Arya pauses and Daenerys isn't sure if she should respond.

 

 

“The Winter Rose some say, just like our aunt.”

 

 

“One that blooms in adversity.” Daenerys mumbles and Arya sends her a sharp look.

 

 

“Indeed, others call her the queen of winter, an apt title don't you think?”

 

 

Daenerys nods.

 

 

“They say she achieved all this, because her heart froze long before winter.”  Arya twists her dagger in her hand as she speaks. “They are wrong.”

 

 

“From what I know of your sister I'm inclined to agree with you.”

 

 

“She does not need someone else manipulating her.” She stabs the dagger into the table, making Daenerys flinch slightly. “Lannisters, Tyrells, Boltons, Baelish, all these people saw my sister as a thing to be traded or bought or bargained for.” She holds Daenerys gaze for a moment. “The Tyrell's were ever so pretty about it, just like I’m sure you would be.”

 

 

“I do not understand what you are getting at Arya.” Daenerys admits.

 

 

“My sister is not yours to take Daenerys Stormborn.” The woman speaks calmly, but there is an edge there. “I am not blind nor am I stupid, you would do well to remember that.”

 

 

Daenerys feels cold dread clog her throat at being caught in her feelings. But also anger, anger at those who had hurt Sansa and furious that Arya would sit there and accuse her of the same thing.

 

 

“And you, Arya Stark, would do well to remember who you are speaking to.” She snaps, feeling herself become angrier with every word.

 

 

“I do not know exactly what you want from my sister, whether it is a twisted way to gain the North or some ridiculous ego trip, but I will not allow you to harm her.”

 

 

“I gave you the North.” Daenerys grits out.

 

 

“Practically on your death bed, I tend not to take such admissions too seriously.”

 

 

“I am not seeking to harm your sister or gain the north and frankly the assumptions and threats being lobbied against me are insulting.” Daenerys tries to collect herself, her eyes locking with Arya's while speaking.

 

 

The woman holds her gaze for a few moments, seemingly considering something, or perhaps trying to intimidate Daenerys further; she is rather difficult to read.

 

 

 A hint of emotion flickers onto her face too quick for Daenerys to register, before she stands, grabbing her dagger from the table.

 

“Then I shall leave you for the evening.” She pauses at the door. “Do think about what I said your grace.”

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa resists the urge to clench her jaw and sigh, actions her sister had no problem with doing from her place behind her. The great hall still held a chill, remnants of the winter passed, the lords of the noble houses cluttered all of the tables, one by one expressing their many…many grievances.

 

 

She ponders, not for the first time, how Jon would have coped with all this. He had always been too blunt. Still, as the head of her Queensguard he sits at her right, clearly as irritated as Arya.

 

 

She couldn't blame either of them.

 

 

“It’s not sustainable.” Lord Greystark spat.

 

 

Arya scoffed.

 

 

This only served to make the man angrier, his face suddenly becoming very red as he stepps closer, causing Arya and Brienne to tense.

 

 

“We have taken far more of those peopl-" he starts again and Jon stands reaching for his sword, before Sansa lifts her hand, silencing the room.

 

 

“Those people? I was under the impression that we Northerners were passed such silly divisions.” Sansa speaks clearly, her voice echoing around the room. “The free folk helped us win the war, or have you simply forgotten the events of the past few months my lord?” She asks, her eyes locking onto the older man's, making it clear she wished for an answer.

 

 

“Of course, your grace, but the war is won, their place is beyond the wall.” The man rebuffs, the air clearly gone from his statement.

 

“The war left their homes damaged, we offered amnesty to them, for all they gave to us.” Jon interjects, still standing, glaring at the man.

 

 

“You'd be forgiven, of course, for not realising the extent of damage my lord.” Arya says in a tone that makes Sansa want to groan. “As you had a rather…passive role in the war yourself.”

 

 

The man sets out a noise of disbelief and looks angry all over again.

 

 

“Enough.” Sansa says. “You house three families my lord, the war left our population decimated, please explain how you are struggling?”   

 

 

Lord Greystark stutters out a non-response before Lyanna Mormont seems to take pity on him.

 

 

“Perhaps we could speak of more pressing matters?”

 

 

Sansa wants to sigh in relief but simply nods.

 

 

“Is there news of Cersei’s trial?” Lyanna continues and the air suddenly becomes very still.

 

 

Sansa reminds herself that it is something she should have asked Daenerys about, or at the very least Jon. It isn’t far from her thoughts, but she simply knows the questions it will lead to. She looks to Jon for an answer.

 

 

 

“It is in hand.” A soft voice cuts through from the back of the room before Jon can answer. The lords seem to part to allow Daenerys to move down the middle of the great hall, her robes billowing behind her. Sansa scolds herself for not realising the woman had entered.

 

 

“When?” Lyanna pushes.

 

 

“I swear to you the provisions are being made and the North will have due notice.” Daenerys replies, her voice balanced and calm.

 

 

“And how can we be sure that justice will be done?” Lord Umber asks, rising to his feet as well.

 

 

“You doubt me, my lord?” Daenerys turns, her voice calm, but Sansa sees a slight tick of her jaw.

 

 

“Our people lost much thanks to that woman.” Umber levels back.

 

 

A few lords murmur in agreement.

 

 

“The Queen is well aware of that.” Sansa says before she can prevent the words from leaving her mouth.

 

 

Even Jon looks slightly shocked at the interjection, Sansa avoids Daenerys's gaze and instead focuses on the Lords in front of her.

 

 

“Justice will be done.” She says finally. “I would not settle for less.”

 

 

She can feel Daenerys' eyes on her.

 

 

“You have my word on that as well.” Daenerys confirms, her eyes not leaving Sansa.

 

 

Sansa dismisses the nobles quickly after that and resists the urge to bang her head against the table.

 

 

Only Jon, Arya, Brienne and Daenerys remain, all caught in an oddly charged silence, which Sansa is too exhausted to think too much into.

 

 

“How very diplomatic your grace.” Arya snarks and Sansa shoots her a glare but is surprised to find she isn't looking at her, her eyes are fixed on Daenerys, with a look Sansa doesn't recognize. It makes her uneasy, only made worse by the look Daenerys is sending back.

 

 

“You may ask me whatever you wish, Lady Stark.” Daenerys says the sentence with such bitterness that Sansa is shocked for a moment.

 

 

She feels Jon tense behind her just as an even darker look passes over Arya's face, and for one horrible moment, Sansa thinks her sister may actually hit the other woman.

 

 

Her sister is, of course, smarter than that, and affixes a sinister grin onto her face.

 

 

“I simply wonder why you have allowed Cersei Lannister to languish in the Black Cells, when the case against her is fairly obvious.” Arya replies coolly. “Is it not?”

 

 

Sansa's eyes move to Daenerys curiously, the woman seems unshaken.

 

 

“Of course, but the people wanted a trial, I am not a tyrant.”

 

 

“Is that what you told the Tarlys?” Arya bites back.

 

 

Daenerys does look angry then, a brief flash of it crossing her face, Sansa finds herself confused by the interaction. Arya was rarely open to nobles, let alone southerners, but this open hostility seems misplaced. She glances at Jon and sees the same confusion she feels reflected on his face. They were clearly missing something. This clearly wasn’t as simple as Arya feeling some sort of bitterness on behalf of a noble family she barely knew.

 

 

“I promised justice, I will give it to you.” Daenerys asserts, her jaw clenching.  

 

 

“I think that's enough.” Sansa says, standing up. “Do not create a problem before there is one.”

 

 

It is meant for Arya, but its meaning should not be lost on Daenerys, Sansa would not sit back if she lets them down.

 

 

Arya holds her gaze for a moment, before she dips her head slightly.

 

 

“Arya, I need your help in training.” Jon interrupts, casting Sansa a glance before guiding the other woman out of the room. Sansa gives a nod to Brienne's questioning gaze causing the other woman to leave as well.

 

 

Sansa slowly walks around the table to stand next to Daenerys, perching herself on the old oak, her eyes looking around the now empty hall. Daenerys, faces away from her  suddenly seeming very interested in the woodwork of the table.

 

 

“Arya doesn't mean to offend.” Sansa sighs.

 

 

Deanerys turns away from the table and sits herself atop it, next to Sansa, her fingers clenching around the edge of it, digging into the old oak.

 

 

“I think she does.” She snorts her voice laced with irritability.

 

 

She's right, but Sansa couldn't say that, it’s hardly comforting.

 

 

“She does it to me too, please don't take offence.”

 

 

Daenerys looks down then, looking terribly vulnerable.

 

 

“I doubt you could do anything to warrant such comments.” She whispers.

 

 

Sansa covers Daenerys hand with her own, easing her grip around the old wood and closes her eyes for a moment.

 

 

“We must always endeavor to do better today than we did yesterday.” She says, opening her eyes to find Daenerys looking at her with something akin to reverence. “It’s something my mother used to say.” She finishes, slightly self-conscious.

 

 

“She sounds very wise.” Daenerys mumbles, her eyes suddenly looking at their hands.

 

 

“She was.” Sansa lets a small smile overtake her at the memory, she rarely allows herself such sweet memories, even now.

 

 

“I am sure she would be proud of you Sansa.”

 

 

Sansa swallows and attempts to blink the tears away, hoping Daenerys doesn't notice. They sit in silence for a few moments before Sansa regains her composure.

 

 

“Would you like to go somewhere?” She whispers, excitement welling in her stomach.

 

 

Daenerys gives her a small smile before nodding.

 

 


	12. Baited breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised fluff, and for this fic this is fairly fluffy....with some angst. 
> 
> But hopefully you guys enjoy it...

Sansa pulls Daenerys out of the kitchens as they both giggled, clutching lemon cakes between them. The cooks had been more than happy to whip up a batch of their queen's favourites.They continue their stroll down the halls of Winterfell, a slight breeze billowing over them as their footsteps echoed behind them. 

 

 

 

In that moment anyone could have mistaken them for carefree young women, and not the queens they were.

 

 

 

“Missandei and Grey Worm seem quite taken with the North.” Sansa observes, biting into a lemon cake.

 

 

 

“I think they are quite taken with having some time alone.” Daenerys laughs. “I’m sure the North’s charm is helping.”

 

 

 

Sansa slips her arm through Daenerys' as they walk along the maze of Winterfell's halls. Enjoying the now familiar warmth it causes.

 

 

 

“It must be stressful.” Sansa remarks. “To be with a soldier.”

 

 

 

Daenerys finishes her lemon cake before answering.

 

 

 

“She worries for him, but I fear in the world we live it, it would be near impossible to find a partner you didn't worry for.”

 

 

 

Sansa hums, pulling Daenerys down the right-hand corridor.

 

 

 

“Though I doubt my husband will worry much.”  Daenerys continues.

 

 

 

“And why is that?” Sansa inquires, a confused lilt to her voice.

 

 

 

“Love is usually the motivation for such a worry, is it not?” she asks.

 

 

 

“You are so sure they will not love you.” It’s not a question, but Sansa can see the unease cross Daenerys' features at hearing it.

 

 

 

Sansa is so lost in the thought that she bumps into Daenerys, who has come to a stop, her eyes fixed on the heavy oaken door that is open a crack. Daenerys frees her arm from Sansa's and pushes on the door gently.

 

 

 

 

Dread clogs Sansa's throat as the other woman looks around the small courtyard with an awestruck expression on her features.

 

 

 

Vines and winter roses grew up the walls surrounding the small courtyard, the greens and blue stark against the grey stone and in the middle, built into the ground, their outdoor bath, now private again, steam rising from it clouding the air.

 

 

 

Daenerys turns to look at her, her eyes filled with wonder and something Sansa will eventually be able to recognize as mischief before she unbuttons her coat and hitches her riding trousers up to her knees.

 

 

 

Sitting at the edge of the baths she takes her shoes off, before dipping her feet in. Grinning wildly as she does so.

 

 

 

“Won't you join me your grace?” She teases over her shoulder.

 

 

 

Sansa relaxes slightly and slowly walks over, removing her shoes and pushing her skirts up slightly so she too can dip her legs in the hot water.

 

 

 

She's thankful the queen didn't want the full experience, her mind travelling to the scars on her back; Daenerys shoots her a warm smile before grabbing her hand and she finds she is also slightly disappointed too.

 

 

 

She shakes her head to rid herself of those images and fixes her own smile upon her face.

 

 

 

“We used the have baths like these in Braavos.” Daenerys speaks into the silence, a wistful look crossing her features.

 

 

 

“Do you miss it?” Sansa asks, her eyes fixed on Daenerys' hand which had dipped into the water.

 

 

 

“Sometimes.” She whispers like it’s a secret, Sansa thinks perhaps it is. “I used to dream of that house, our house, with the red door and the lemon tree.” She frowns and Sansa feels her heart ache a little.

 

 

 

There are a few beats of silence before the silver haired queen continues. “But when I was there, I dreamt of Westeros.” She laughs almost bitterly, but it sounds far too strained. “It seems my heart has not found home in either place.”

 

 

 

Sansa stares at her for a moment, perhaps truly seeing her for the first time since she arrived. The bags under her eyes were far more pronounced now than even when she had knocked on death's door, her vivid purples eyes lacked the brightness Sansa was so accustomed to. Her shoulders slumped as though she was physically carrying Westeros on her back.

 

 

 

Her beauty was undeniable, even now, but Sansa couldn't help but think there was something awfully tragic about the dragon queen in that moment.

 

 

 

A young woman who fought so hard to come home, only to find home may not be where she thought it was.

 

 

 

Sansa's home had always been Winterfell, even when Ramsey, the awful creature he was, terrorized her here. Winterfell was her home and he couldn't take that from her, as Cersei and Joffrey had wished to do.

 

 

 

“I'm sorry.” She mumbles, her thumb caressing the other woman's softly.

 

 

 

Her eyes flick up to see Daenerys collect herself slightly.

 

 

 

“I do believe you say that to me far too often, your grace.” Her voice is teasing, and she throws Sansa a wink, but it’s clear her heart isn't in it. “Kingslanding is my home now.” She asserts, her voice a little stronger.

 

 

 

Sansa smiles.

 

 

 

“Well I am sorry for that.”

 

 

 

“it isn't that bad!” Daenerys giggles moving slightly closer.

 

 

 

Sansa dips her own free hand in the water then, tension fading away.

 

 

 

“I will have to take your word for that, Your grace.”

 

 

 

“We are rebuilding flea bottom, did Jon tell you?” Daenerys asks and Sansa swears there's something hopeful in her face as she says it, like she's seeking Sansa's approval.

 

 

 

“Yes, it’s very impressive, halving the amount of open-air shit in Kingslanding is quite an achievement.” Sansa says. “You'll just have to do something about the nobles next.”

 

 

There's a moment where Daenerys stares at her in disbelief, before both women dissolve into fits of laughter.  

 

 

 

“How very crude of you, your grace.”

 

 

 

“I'm sure the people are very happy; nobody should live like they had to.”

 

 

 

Daenerys hums in agreement.

 

 

 

“Perhaps renaming it should be the next step.”

 

 

 

“Indeed.” Sansa snorts.

 

 

 

They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sound the water lapping at their legs.

 

 

 

“You were quite magnificent today.” Daenerys broaches.

 

 

 

Sansa feels a flurry of excitement at that and finds herself smiling even wider.

 

 

 

“I imagine it was nothing compared what you must deal with.” She retorts.

 

 

 

She thinks of the pain and death that seemed to engulf Kingslanding when she had been there, the constant power struggles and plots. She shivers slightly at the thought.

 

 

To her surprise, Daenerys does not look at disturbed as she thought she would, in fact she looked rather amused by Sansa’s comment.

 

 

 

 

“I had to listen to an entire day of farming disputes before I left.” She lets out a tired laugh. “It really isn’t what I imagine ruling to be, I desired it for so long, but I never thought about the ordinary parts.”

 

 

 

The look in her eyes was emptiness, longing, Sansa recognized it then, she had got all she had thought she had desired, but something was missing. She thought of Baelish, and his picture. What else would a dragon desire?

 

 

 

A memory surfaced in her mind then, Margaery Tyrell, pulling her around the gardens of the Keep, trying to show Sansa that there was always beauty somewhere. Beauty didn’t protect either of them though. Margaery’s reign had been far from ordinary, three husbands, murder after murder, fanatics, imprisonment and torture. She could not regret that Daenerys has the ability to bemoan ordinary.

 

 

 

Bealish had asked Sansa what she desired, and she had often wondered the same thing about Margaery Tyrell, was she like Cersei? As so many had insisted to Sansa after her demise, so desperate to sit on the throne, gods be damned what it did to them to sit upon it? Or was she a victim, a pawn in her family's ambitions? Or was she perhaps all of these things at once, cursed with ambition from birth.

 

 

 

Was Daenerys like that? Did some flowers only bloom in adversity?

 

 

 

Daenerys did not seek destruction or strife, but Sansa couldn’t help but wonder when she would feel complete.

 

 

 

“Sounds terribly dull.” Sansa admits.

 

 

 

“I suppose it’s rather silly of me to complain.” Daenerys mumbles, a light blush creeping up her cheeks.

 

 

 

“I'm sure your husband will shake things up.” Sansa remarks, slightly embarrassed at the oddly jealous edge her had taken. It was supposed to be lighthearted.

 

 

 

Daenerys closes her eyes and sighs.

 

 

 

“Forgive me, but I’d rather not discuss them at this moment.” She sounds tired and Sansa feels a pang of guilt.

 

 

 

“I did not mean to offend.” Sansa whispers, squeezing Daenerys' hand.

 

 

 

“Oh, my lady I doubt you could ever.” Daenerys replies, her voice feather soft.

 

 

 

Another flurry of butterflies’ swirl around Sansa's stomach at the statement, she shifts closer to the other woman, playing with her fingers absentmindedly.

 

 

 

Her eyes travel down to glance at Daenerys lips, enjoying the slight quirk at the corner of her mouth.

 

 

Daenerys seems to catch Sansa's gaze, and Sansa isn't sure who moves forward first but suddenly her lips are presses against Daenerys' softly. She basks in the feeling of Daenerys' mouth moving against hers for a moment, allowing her eyes to close and her fingers to continue their caress of the other woman’s.

 

 

 

The serenity only lasts for a moment though, as Sansa suddenly becomes painfully aware of where they are, of what they are doing.

 

 

 

It feels like a lead weight has been dropped into her stomach and she sharply pulls away, as though Daenerys’ skin burned her.

 

 

 

Daenerys looks at her, her eyes blown wide with shock.

 

 

The silence hangs heavy in the air and it’s as though time stands still. Daenerys' hand reaches out to touch Sansa's arm, but before she can, Sansa jumps up, collecting her belongings hurriedly.

 

 

 

“I'm sorry.” She whispers hastily, backing away.

 

 

 

Hurt and confusion flashes across Daenerys' face, this time she makes no move to hide her feelings and Sansa feels her heart clench at the site.

 

 

 

Fear bubbles up in her throat and she felt her hands shake.

 

 

 

She couldn't do this.

 

 

 

Before Daenerys can say anything, Sansa has fled through the door, dashing down the corridors of Winterfell until she reaches the sanctuary of her room.

 

 

 

She squeezes her eyes shut tightly, her heart still thundering in her chest. She brings her fingers tentatively up to touch her lips, which still burned with the memory of Daenerys’; an uneasy feeling overtaking her.

 


	13. An answered question

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy finale day!

Daenerys wrings her hands nervously, her left leg bouncing under the table. Missandei sits across from her, explaining a book Sansa had sent to her rooms.

 

 

 

She somehow felt her friend could see right through her. That she would somehow know she had kissed Sansa. She wanted to snort at the idea; instead she listened intently, sipping at her wine.

 

 

 

It had been an entire day, and she had yet to even see Sansa. It was becoming unbearable, she was leaving in a week, she felt as though if she didn't see the woman soon, she would burst. She's vaguely aware of some shouts outside but shakes her head free of distracting thoughts of auburn hair and stormy eyes.

 

 

 

A tentative knock sounds at the door and Daenerys jumps, she throws Missandei a confused look. They had met in the chambers she was sharing with Grey Worm to avoid being interrupted; however, her friend seems unsurprised at the knock and goes to the door.

 

 

 

“Your grace.” She greets the newcomer brightly. “Arya.”

 

 

 

She moves to let them in, and Daenerys then notes the extra chairs, that she had not questioned the presence of until now, placed around the oaken table.

 

 

 

This was planned, she sends a Missandei a disbelieving look. The woman appears to be avoiding eye contact, much to Daenerys' annoyance.

 

 

 

Daenerys chances a glance at Sansa, her heart thundering in her chest. She was wearing her green dress, with the direwolf sown onto the breast, her hair was braided, and Daenerys shifts slightly, feeling self-conscious for a moment. Her hand comes up to her own hair, she hadn't expected to see anyone.

 

 

 

Sansa seems to freeze when their eyes lock, her mouth opens for a moment, as though she wishes to say something, before it snaps shut. She sends Daenerys a nod and chooses the seat as far away from her as possible, leaving Daenerys sitting next to Arya.

 

 

 

Arya sends Daenerys a look she doesn't want to decode, instead she takes a long sip of her wine and listens to Missandei inquire about Sansa's day. Her friend had extremely refined social graces, despite her own insecurity about holding noble company.

 

 

 

“I'm afraid my day was rather drab; we had a stock take for the monthly grain report.” Sansa explains, then pauses a moment, as though weighing her next words carefully. “I also got word from Lord Baelish; he will be here tomorrow.”

 

 

 

Daenerys tries to not let her distaste show on her face, she isn't sure how convincing she is. She can feel Arya tense beside her and is slightly relieved at the thought that she dislikes the man more than she dislikes Daenerys.

 

 

 

“What for?” Arya snaps, irritation lacing her words.

 

 

 

Missandei glances at her wine awkwardly, clearly feeling slightly uncomfortable. Daenerys can't help but wonder why the sisters were having this discussion now.

 

 

 

“He wished to prep me.” Sansa says, her posture tense, Daenerys can't help but note. “It is perhaps out of place for me to say but…” she pauses again, her jaw clenching slightly. “He wished me to facilitate a meeting with you, your grace.”

 

 

 

 

Daenerys swallows her wine heavily and slowly places the cup down, a slight nausea rising up.

 

 

 

“Whatever for?” She enquires, making her voice softer than she feels, discussing that man.

 

 

 

 

He had avoided coming to Kingslanding, mostly communicating about the Eyrie through ravens and messengers. Daenerys considers it a small mercy.

 

 

 

“I believe he has found a suitor for you, your grace.” Sansa replies.

 

 

 

 

The air suddenly feels very tense and Daenerys is aware of three sets of eyes looking intently at her, Missandei's hold sympathy, Arya's are curious, and Sansa has a look Daenerys can't place.

 

 

 

“Did he say who?” She whispers, hating how vulnerable she sounds with Arya staring at her so intently.

 

 

 

“No, your grace.” 

 

 

 

She nods in reply and takes another gulp of wine, trying to ignore the burning stare of the Stark sisters.

 

 

 

“I look forward to meeting him.” She manages to get out.

 

 

 

An odd look passes over Sansa's face and Daenerys glances down at the table, guilt clawing at her throat. She reasons she has no reason to feel guilty.

 

 

 

“I'm sure he will be thrilled to meet you.” Arya scoffs, sarcastically, rolling her eyes when her sister's eyes snapped towards her in reprimand.

 

 

 

Daenerys chews on her bottom lip, her eyes squarely on Sansa, watching as the girl finished her nonverbal communication with Arya, only to catch Daenerys' eye for a moment. Her heart thundered in her chest as she itched to reach out to the woman. She pushed the urge down and reminded herself of the events of the previous day.

 

 

 

Missandei must have sensed Daenerys inner turmoil as she promptly changes the topic to the book she had gotten from the Northern queen. Daenerys relaxes slightly and allows herself to gaze at Sansa as she excitedly explained the book.

 

 

Daenerys had to maintain her effort in ignoring the other Stark sister, who still seemed to find Daenerys far more interesting than the conversation unfolding in front of them.

 

* * *

 

 

 

Sansa tosses her furs onto her bed when she finally retired hours later, hoping to find a night’s reprieve before Baelish's arrival in the morning.

 

 

 

Arya seemed to have other ideas, locking her door before searching Sansa's room for a few moments. Sansa winces, trying not to think of the reasons for her sister's permenant paranoia since her return to them.

 

 

 

When the younger woman seems satisfied, she turns to face Sansa, her face blank.

 

 

 

“Brienne is on duty tonight, if you wish to go rest.” Sansa hums, sitting at her dressing table and removing some of her braids.

 

 

 

Arya slowly walks around her room, seemingly deep in thought. Her fingers brush over the bedpost, Sansa briefly wonders if she is remembering the time, as a child, she hit her face against it. Sansa smiles softly at the memory of Robb panicking as Arya clutched her face, insisting she was perfectly fine, despite the blood.

 

 

 

“She's very pretty.” Arya says finally.

 

 

 

Her voice makes Sansa jump and she has to shake her head to rid her of the memory. She doesn't need to ask who her sister means, though she wished she did, but purple eyes and silver hair were never far from her mind lately.

 

 

 

“Her beauty is known throughout the Seven Kingdoms.” Sansa agrees, locking eyes with her sister in the mirror, a silent challenge to push the matter further.

 

 

 

“I'm sure she will find a lovely husband.” Arya says, her voice level, but a slight upturn in the corner of her mouth.

 

 

 

Sansa wishes she wasn't in front of her mirror, as she can't help but catch the horrible dark expression that crosses her own face at her sister's words.

 

 

 

“Indeed, she will.” She grits out, unsure where this line of thought had come from.

 

 

 

Arya scowls for a moment, and Sansa is unsure if this is because she got the reaction she had expected or not.

 

 

 

“What is your issue with her?” Sansa says suddenly.

 

 

 

“I do not have one.” Arya exclaims, a slight look of confusion on her face, only for a moment.

 

 

 

“You look at her as though she is Joffrey sometimes.” Sansa voices, softly, hoping her sister will simply explain it to her. Instead Arya huffs and gets herself a drink of wine, Sansa can help but cringe at the uncharacteristic move. She had clearly touched a nerve, and she suddenly felt rather uncomfortable. “I’m sorry I didn't mean t-" she starts.

 

 

 

“I do not look at her like that.” Arya interrupts.

 

 

 

 Sansa turns in her seat, observing her sister's tight stance.

 

 

 

“Alright.” She says.

 

 

 

“I know you think I don't notice such things.” Arya begins, looking almost awkward for a moment. “But I can see how you look at her.”

 

 

 

Sansa feels heat creep up her neck at being so obviously caught out.

 

 

 

“I don't…” she tries again, before Arya starts again.

 

 

 

“You do.” Arya shrugs.

 

 

 

“So, you wish to antagonize her?” Sansa asks.

 

 

 

“I have done nothing that a queen shouldn't be able to handle.” She hits back. “If she can't handle that, what sort of queen is she?”

 

 

 

It takes Sansa a moment to fully register the implication of Arya's words. She cringes as she remembers her own words to Daenerys months ago, comparing her to Cersei.

 

 

 

“That isn't your job.”

 

 

 

Arya's face flashes with annoyance, only making Sansa more confused.

 

 

 

“I'm your sister.” She says, as though Sansa is stupid for not realizing the point of her actions towards Daenerys immediately.

 

 

 

Sansa feels slightly touched at Arya's sudden care for such matters. She casts her eyes down for a moment and takes a deep breath.

 

 

 

“So, you think by threatening her, you are protecting me?” she asks.

 

 

 

Arya sighs, taking a seat, her fingers playing with her dagger in a way that used to put Sansa on edge.

 

 

 

“I won't see someone else mistreat you.” She says, an air on finality in her voice.

 

 

 

“I-Arya…” Sansa has no idea what to say.

 

 

 

“Joffrey was a monster; Ramsey was a monster.” Arya says, her voice, softer than Sansa is used to. “Baelish is…”

 

 

 

“I know.” Sansa whispers. “But she isn't.”

 

 

 

“You don't know that, nobody that wants that damn throne is sane.” Arya scoffs. “I couldn’t stop it before, and you won’t let me deal with Baelish.”

 

 

 

Sansa hesitantly reaches out and grabs Arya's hand.

 

 

 

“I appreciate your concern.” She smiles. “But I can take care of myself.”

 

 

 

Arya rolls her eyes.

 

 

 

“I know that, but Targaryens are hardly known for their calm temperament.” She explains.

 

 

 

At least her interactions with Daenerys made sense now.

 

 

“Arya please, she isn't like that.” Sansa sighs again. “You should not punish a daughter for the crimes of their father.”

 

 

 

The younger Stark leans back in her chair and glances out of the window.

 

 

 

“I’m not.” She replies plainly. “I am judging her on her own merits.”

 

 

 

“And what is your judgement?” Sansa asks, hating that she is curious of her sister’s opinion.

 

 

 

The sisters lock eyes for a moment and Arya’s head tips to the side slightly, her expression still blank.

 

 

 

“She has managed well.” She says, causing Sansa to raise her eyebrows. “So far.”

 

 

 

Sansa sighs.

 

 

 

“Well you should stop either way.” She explains.

 

 

 

Arya raises her eyebrows.

 

 

 

“Nothing will happen.” Sansa stresses, removing her hand from Arya's to finish loosening the braids of her hair.

 

 

 

“For the record, if you wanted it to, I think something could happen.” Arya says before standing back up. “But if she hurts you, I don't care what she is the queen of, I won't let her get away with it.”

 

 

 

Sansa nods, her mind whirling with the implication of Arya’s words.


	14. Stormborn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some warnings: Ramsey is discussed in this chapter, its really really brief but still and there is an panic attack. 
> 
> This chapter is super long, I tried splitting it into two but it didn't feel right and after that episode? I think we can treat ourselves. 
> 
> I am committed to finishing this fic, despite the show being over so don't worry!

He was handsome, that was irritatingly undeniable, in fact he was the sort of match that would've made Sansa swoon herself, once upon a time.

 

 

 

Bastian Redfort and Lord Baelish had arrived mere hours ago and already he was walking around Winterfell with arm around Queen Daenerys. He was tall, with brown hair not quite as long as Jon's had grown, he was slightly leaner than Sansa had expected, but still nowhere near as physically imposing as a member of the Dothraki.

 

 

 

Sansa works to unclench her jaw from her place a few paces behind the couple.

 

 

 

Baelish's arm is like lead on her own as he guides her to follow them, talking in low tones about the Eyrie. She doesn’t know why her attendance was insisted upon, Daenerys is the queen of Westeros, she hardly needs a chaperone, and a Northern one at that.

 

 

 

When she had asked just that to Baelish, he had looked at her as though she was a child that had disappointed him. She knew why, he believed that she should want to manipulate Daenerys, and finding her a husband was the perfect way to do that. He had even suggested that if Bastian wasn't to her taste that they should offer a northerner, that he would find, of course.

 

 

 

Her thoughts are broken when Bastian leans closer to Daenerys, whispering something into her ear that makes both of them burst into fits of laughter. Sansa's jaw tightens again, and she wonders, not for the first time since their walk began, if her aim was good enough to throw something at him from this distance.

 

 

 

She should've invited Arya; the woman would've hit him of her own violation if she found him irritating enough.

 

 

 

 

“It seems to be going well, your grace.” Baelish whispers into her ear, in much the same way she saw Bastian do.

 

 

 

 

Sansa represses the urge to shudder, more than used to Baelish's affinity for such a close proximity by now.

 

 

 

“It looks that way.” She whispers, her gaze tracking the movement of Bastian’s hand until it sits on Daenerys' waist.

 

 

 

 

She almost scoffs. Highly inappropriate for a first meeting.

 

 

 

Though, she supposes Daenerys was never very traditional. A small smile tugs at her lips at that thought, it was part of the reason Sansa found her company so thrilling.

 

 

 

 

Jealously is a petty emotion, Sansa reminds herself, and one she has no right to have.

 

 

 

 

“For the record, if you wanted it to, I think something could happen.” Arya’s words echo in her head as her mind is full of the soft vulnerable way Daenerys would look at her, when Sansa was sure she wanted to kiss her.

 

 

 

The memory of their kiss comes flooding back and Sansa clears her throat awkwardly, finding it much harder to push those memories away this time.

 

 

 

Baelish looks at her, concern in his steely eyes.

 

 

 

“Have I met him before my lord?” Sansa asks, taking the opportunity to take her mind of Daenerys, if only for a moment, as it was a question she also couldn't quite shake.

 

 

 

Baelish's eyes leave her as he stares straight ahead to the couple, a smirk gracing his face.

 

 

 

Sansa had worn many titles, and met many people under them, but she was struck, when she met Lord Redfort, how she didn't recognize him at all.

 

 

 

Of course, houses were large and there was no reason for her to have met every single person, but Sansa couldn't shake the feeling that something was off about the man.

 

 

 

 

“No, I’m afraid not your grace.” Baelish replies. “He is unfortunately only a cousin of house Redfort, but with the war, he is one of our few surviving lords.”

 

 

 

 

Sansa nods, Daenerys hadn't picked a brilliant time to wish to marry, most of the houses lost their children in the battle with the undead, and some to Cersei. Cousins were being called upon to head their house in unprecedented numbers.

 

 

 

 

He was leaning into her again, his mouth pressed against the shell of her ear, Sansa was very glad in that moment that she couldn't see if Daenerys was blushing. She didn't think her heart could take that just now.

 

 

 

 

Cousin or not he was very forward, Sansa wonders if he was just one of Baelish's whores, that the man had decided to dress and train to court the queen.

 

 

 

 

Sansa's eyes flit to the Lord of the Vale for a moment, wondering if he would do just that.

 

 

 

How else could he assure absolute loyalty from him? It was plausible that he was a cousin, a man confused by his social standing and grieving his family that Baelish had picked out and manipulated, much like with Sansa herself.

 

 

 

Either way, the man was clearly a creature of Baelish, who Daenerys should certainly avoid.

 

 

 

Sansa swears she sees Bastian squeeze Daenerys' hip again. She tries to repress the scowl that is threatening to overtake her face and decides to continue her conversation with Baelish, in hopes of a distracting herself.

 

 

 

However, she is surprised to see Baelish casting a horribly dark look towards the pair himself, his eyes seemingly fixed on the man's hands as well.

 

 

 

 

“Bastian.” He shouts, alerting the man's attention as the pair quickly turn. “I fear the weather may be turning, perhaps we should all retire.”

 

 

 

 

Sansa watches with interest as a look of great discomfort to passes over the man's face as he looks up toward the cloudy sky.

 

 

 

 

“Of course, uncle.” The man replies, before whispering something to Daenerys and placing a kiss on her hand.

 

 

 

Uncle. Sansa feels a stab of pity for the boy then, who looks much younger when his eyes meet Baelish's than he had at their introduction. Uncle, just like he was Alayne's father, Sansa assumes.

 

 

 

Baelish's scowl only seems to darken as the boy approaches, he places his arm around the boy's shoulder and guides him away.

 

 

 

Sansa blinks, bewildered for a moment that anything could drive Baelish to distraction enough to leave not only Daenerys, who still stood a few paces from her in the clearing, but Sansa as well.

 

 

 

It was only then that it dawned on Sansa that they were, completely and utter alone. She shifts from foot to foot for a moment before sighing.

 

 

 

“I fear Petyr may be right your grace.” She calls to ensure the other woman hears her. “I think a storm is coming in, we should go back.”

 

 

 

Daenerys looks to the sky for a moment, before nodding and walking to Sansa side. She offers her arm out for Sansa to take and she feels her heart hammer in her chest.

 

 

 

This is normal. She reminds herself, looping her arm through Daenerys', and tries not to blush at the warm smile Daenerys sends her. They start to walk slowly towards Winterfell, they were much further out than Sansa realised.

 

 

 

“Do you know him?” Daenerys asks softly, eyeing Sansa carefully.

 

 

 

“No, your grace.” Sansa replies.

 

 

 

She isn't quite sure whether to share her doubts with the other woman, a voice reasons that it could be simple jealousy, petty though it may be, clouding her judgement. Another voice, that often takes the tone of her sister, reasons that whether he is a whore dressed as a noble or a real noble is irrelevant, he is clearly part of a plot.

 

 

 

Surely Daenerys knows that, perhaps she believes it is better to invite him in, as spying can work both ways.

 

 

 

Sansa bites back a sigh, she thought she understood Baelish's games but is quite confused by his sudden disappearance. If he was worried about the boy's courtly manners, she thinks he should be reminded that leaving two women alone, deep within the forest of the North would also be frowned upon.

 

 

 

Daenerys knows Baelish is dangerous, but she doesn't know the full story, the extent to which this all comes back to him. That he is the reason Jon Arryn died, that he all but killed their father with his plotting.

 

 

 

Patience in all things, her mother had insisted, just as she had to Arya when Bran told them. Sansa had never wanted someone dead quite as much than in that moment, but she knew they had to wait, to keep the Knights of the Vale, to keep the stability before the war.

 

 

 

It was a mistake, she realizes, looking back, now she is queen of the North and cannot execute a man outside of her own kingdom. So, she waits, pretending to be that meek little girl that needs protection, allows him to believe he is guiding her as queen, even from the Vale.

 

 

 

A wolf, in sheep’s clothing.  

 

 

 

Bastian may be his downfall.

 

 

 

 

She thinks of Loras Tyrell then, brought down by a whore; the whole house, destroyed because of one man. At least, that's what people tut, Sansa thinks they are terribly naïve, she doubts Olyver suddenly grew a mind of his own. No, Baelish had waited, patient as ever, to bring that crashing down.

 

 

 

 

He was patient then; she would be patient now. Ever the opportunist, Baelish was lucky that Loras Tyrell held that mark of Dorne that he never felt the need to cover up.

 

 

 

What a sad world they live in where trust was a man's downfall.

 

 

 

Sansa stopped dead in her tracks then, ignoring Daenerys' questioning gaze.

 

 

 

The mark of Dorne that he was too foolish to never cover up, hard evidence, for who would believe a whore over a noble for anything less.

 

 

 

 

The note.

 

 

 

The note that she had so foolishly left around her chambers for Baelish to find. They hadn't done anything, Sansa knows that, but in her attempt to calm the man down she had all but claimed to have spent the night with the dragon queen.

 

 

 

 

Gods, she hadn't told Daenerys that, she might have doomed them both.

 

 

 

 

Her breaths were becoming shorter now as her chest constricted horribly.

 

 

 

He burnt the note, but was that the note? She was in such a state it could have been a copy; she wouldn't have known the difference. Even if the note was ash, he had what he needed; confirmation.

 

 

 

Daenerys was looking at her with great concern now, stroking her arm gently, clearly speaking to her but Sansa heard none of it over the roaring of blood in her ears.

 

 

 

Perhaps that’s why he brought her here, in the hopes that she would do something more. Is that why he ran off? Were they being watched? That was ridiculous surely.

 

 

 

She feels her back hit a tree and she claws at the bark with her hands, trying desperately to ground herself, sliding down to sit on the grass below.

 

 

 

If they were being watched Daenerys needed to get away from her, Sansa attempts to relay this information to her but all that comes out is strained gasps for air.

 

 

Daenerys moves closer, and goes to cradle Sansa face; stopping just before her hands touch her, as though she's worried, she'll crack. Tears stream down Sansa's face and this appears to be the final straw for Daenerys who gently caresses her cheek with one hand, while the other taps out a gentle rhythm on her arm.

 

 

 

She continues to talk but Sansa still can't hear her.

 

 

 

She thought being queen would make her safe, but he could still rip everything out from under both of them. Did her survival now depend on whether his twisted love for her was greater than his desire for the throne?

 

 

 

“Shhhhh.” She suddenly hears Daenerys whisper. “Just focus on me Sansa.”

 

 

 

 

Sansa closes her eyes and tries to focus on the feeling of Daenerys fingers on her cheek and the steady rhythm she is tapping on her arm. She isn't sure how long they stay like that, how long it takes her to finally breathe again. Daenerys' forehead is pressed against her own by the time she has calmed down, their breathing somewhat in sync.

 

 

 

Sansa slowly wraps her free arm around Daenerys' waist, pulling her closer, reveling in the warmth and comfort she so easily provides.

 

 

 

They lock eyes for a moment, for once, Sansa doesn't suppress the warmth that bubbles up at the sight of the soft violet staring back at her. Her eyes flicker down to the woman's lips, that are trembling slightly. She moves forward slowly, pausing a breath away from them, looking to Daenerys for permission, the woman nods slightly.

 

 

 

Sansa presses her lips against Daenerys' softly, her arm tightening around her waist, sighing into the soft feeling of Daenerys' mouth moving against hers. Daenerys moves from caressing Sansa’s cheek to tangling her hand in her hair. Sansa pulls her closer, until the smaller woman is straddling her hips, nipping at her bottom lip.

 

 

Daenerys moves away slightly, her breath heavy against Sansa's lips.

 

 

“Sansa…” She breathes.

 

 

Sansa isn't sure her name has ever sounded sweeter and she chases Daenerys' lips with her own.

 

 

 

Daenerys gives in for only a moment before moving away again.

 

 

 

“Sansa.” She tries again and Sansa lets a whine slip past her lips.

 

 

 

“Not yet.” Sansa whispers and moves to trail kisses up Daenerys' neck.

 

 

 

If she must marry some lord, if Baelish is plotting their downfall, let them at least have this moment.

 

 

 

Her hand in Sansa's hair tightens as a whimper works past her lips.

 

 

“Sansa, the rain.” Daenerys insists, her smile evident in her voice.

 

 

 

Sansa pauses and suddenly realizes it was in fact raining, quite heavily. Their clothes and hair were already dripping, and Daenerys did appear to be shaking.

 

 

 

“Oh…” she replies softly.

 

 

 

The women hold each other's gaze for a moment before bursting into fits of laughter.

 

 

Sansa pulls Daenerys up, trying to ignore how shaky on her feet she feels. She grabs the Dragon Queen's hand and pulls her, not along the path, towards Winterfell, but through the trees. She hopes her bearings earlier were correct or they might be even more worse for wear upon their return.

 

 

 

They come upon the old barn fairly quickly, tall imposing trees surround it and Sansa thanks all the gods that the old building is still standing, they duck inside just as the first crack of thunder is heard.

 

 

 

It wasn't perfect, the tall ceiling did allow some leaks, the hay was old and wouldn't be a comfortable place to rest but trying to navigate the woods of Winterfell in such a storm would not be advisable.

 

 

Sansa keeps her hand in Daenerys' as the other woman surveys their new surroundings. It wasn’t huge, and was mostly sparse, a small fireplace sat in the corner, the stone chimney running up the right-hand wall. Hutches were stacked up the back wall and the tall beams seemed to creak at the pressure from the rain.

 

 

“A lucky find.” She says, a hint of teasing in her voice.

 

 

 

Sansa smiles, pulling the smaller woman closer, running her hands down Daenerys' arms as the girl shivered, she clearly hadn't expected a storm.

 

 

 

“My brother Robb used to come here with girls.” She rolls her eyes. “He thought we didn't know.”

 

 

 

Daenerys laughs before going over to the small fireplace and attempting to start it, clearly much colder than she was comfortable being. Sansa watches curiously, reminded again just how different their upbringings had been.

 

 

 

She walks over to one of the abandoned hutches and produces an old blanket which was surprisingly clean, the wood was well stocked as well. She shakes the blanket and wonders if Jon or Arya had visited since their return.

 

 

 

She hangs her own furs away from and leaking spots but close to the fireplace, thankful that despite the mild weather, she had layered up.

 

 

She kneels next to Daenerys, slightly surprised that she managed to start a fire so quickly and offers her the blanket. The woman looks at it with something a little like longing, clearly still effected by the rain but hesitates.

 

 

 

“You should take your clothes off.” Sansa says and she wants to groan at the suggestive look Daenerys gives her.

 

 

 

“How very forward of you Lady Stark.” She replies, grinning.

 

 

 

“To warm up faster.” Sansa throws back, flicking some water from her hand into Daenerys' face.

 

 

 

Daenerys seems to take this as a cue to begin undressing and Sansa quickly looks away and busies herself tending to the fire in front of her.

 

 

 

She can hear Daenerys giggle behind her.

 

 

 

“Tyrion was right, all Westerosi people are terribly prudish about nudity.”

 

 

 

Sansa resists the urge to tell her she's northern, not Westerosi, and that the Dornish and Iron born might greatly disagree with her Lord Hand.

 

 

 

“It’s not proper to look at someone when they are undressing.” Sanaa mumbles, slightly embarrassed.

 

 

 

“Does this mean you will not look at me for the duration of the storm, your grace?” Daenerys inquires teasingly. “You have such beautiful eyes my lady, I would hate to be deprived of them.”

 

 

Sansa lets out a breath, feeling some of her resolve crumble. Her eyes remind on the fire until suddenly Daenerys appears to reach into the flames to garner her attention.

 

 

Sansa snaps into action and whirls round, grabbing Daenerys by the elbow and pulling her arm from the flames, her heart beating rapidly.

 

 

 

Her primary concern is with her hand, which remains unblemished, if not slightly warmer than the rest of her. Something she should have known, the name unburnt comes from somewhere, but knowing it and seeing it are vastly different. Her fingers caress it gently, assessing it thoroughly for any damage, only looking up when she’s certain there is none.

 

 

 

Daenerys is at least wearing her small clothes; which Sansa finds herself both glad and disappointed by. The scar from the battle with the dead is still blooming on her shoulder and Sansa itches to reach out and touch it.

 

 

 

“Are you not cold my lady?” Daenerys whispers.

 

 

 

Sansa feels her chest tighten slightly, she is in all honesty, even wolves get cold and despite her furs bearing the brunt of the rain her dress wasn't in particularly good shape either.

 

 

 

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to Sansa.” Daenerys reassures her, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear, allowing her fingers to graze Sansa's cheek as she does so.

 

 

 

For the first time in a long time Sansa is sure that that is true, that if she said no, Daenerys would never bring it up again. But that was the problem, she did want to, much more than she ever thought she would.

 

 

 

“He told me he'd always be with me.” She whispers, letting out a shaky breath. “That he was a part of me now.” Tears prick at her eyes as she continues. “He was right, wasn't he? Because I can't…”

 

 

 

Daenerys rests her forehead against Sansa's and moves her hand to stroke the back of her neck.

 

 

 

“No.” She whispers in reply. “That man was nothing, he could never be a part of you.” Her eyes flutter closed as their noses bump together. “Never Sansa.”

 

 

 

Sansa shakes her head, willing the tears away, afraid that if she starts, she may never stop.

 

 

 

“You are strong and brave and gentle.” Daenerys voice cracks slightly as she speaks. “You are a wolf Sansa Stark, and nobody, not Ramsey or Baelish or Joffrey can take that away from you.”

 

 

 

The final piece of Sansa dwindling resolve breaks as she lets out a sob, leaning into Daenerys, her hands clutching at her sides. Daenerys pulls her closer whispering gently into her ear.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys absentmindedly braids a loose piece of Sansa's hair while the girl sleeps. Shortly after she had calmed down Daenerys had found another blanket Sansa could use to cover herself once she was undressed, it hadn't taken long for her to doze off.

 

 

 

Daenerys had every intention of doing the same, but thoughts of what Sansa had shared with her plagued her mind. She had spent the time Sansa slept wondering if it were possible to kill a man twice.  

 

 

 

Sansa shifts in her sleep, moving closer to Daenerys, causing the girl to smile. Their clothes should be dry soon, but it was drawing closer to nightfall and the storm still seemed to be raging.

 

 

 

As if on cue a clap of thunder rung out, echoing through the barn and disturbing Sansa.

 

 

 

“Hello.” She whispers softly as the other woman gazes up at her through drowsy eyes.

 

 

 

“I feel asleep.” Sansa says, sounding slightly confused.

 

 

 

Daenerys hums in reply as Sansa catches the braid in her hair and examines it with a look of bewilderment and something a bit like fondness.

 

 

 

“Not much to do.” Daenerys shrugs.

 

 

 

 

“You should've woken me.” Sansa chastises as she sits up, adjusting the blanket as she does so, despite the presence of her own small clothes underneath.

 

 

 

Daenerys grabs her spare hand and squeezes it affectionately.

 

 

 

“You looked peaceful.”

 

 

 

Another clap of thunder sounds and Sansa groans.

 

 

 

“It’s still raining?”

 

 

 

Daenerys nods.

 

 

 

“Jon once told me that Northern storms can last for days.” She says, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

 

 

“if it does, we will just have to brave the rain I’m afraid.” Sansa says, turning around, seeming to search for something. “Unless we want a search party after us.”

 

 

 

“What are you looking for?” Daenerys asks, slightly amused.

 

 

 

Sansa huffs and turns back to Daenerys.

 

 

 

“Wine or rum or…something.” She replies.

 

 

 

“In this barn?”

 

 

 

“I told you, Robb used to come here all the time, he must've hidden some somewhere!”

 

 

 

Daenerys smiles at the exasperated look on Sansa's face and gets up to search the stables and hutches for a bottle. She is about to give up when she sees the rain ricocheting off something in the corner of the barn and runs over. She pulls up a glass bottle in triumph, with Sansa clapping from her spot near the fire.

 

 

 

She grabs the bottle from Daenerys' hands as soon as she is close enough and goes to take a drink.

 

 

 

“Don't!” Daenerys protests. “You don't know what’s in it!”

 

 

 

Sansa gives her a look of confusion.

 

 

 

“Robb stored it here, or Jon, its alcohol.” She says as if it is the most obvious thing in the world.

 

 

 

“You don't know that.”

 

 

 

Sansa shrugs and takes a drink, anyway, wincing slightly.

 

 

 

“It’s rum.” She says, coughing a bit.

 

 

 

“How do you know?”

 

 

 

“Because it’s disgusting.”  Sansa laughs and passes the bottle to Daenerys, who eyes it skeptically before taking a swig.

 

 

 

It was rum, not brilliant rum, but not awful. Daenerys had never been a terrible fan of the drink, but there were worse things to be stuck with. She settles in her place next to Sansa, taking the other woman's hand almost reflexively. 

 

 

 

“You didn't tell me what you thought of Bastian.” She says, knowing the man was the last thing she personally wished to discuss, but desperate to understand the woman's reaction earlier.

 

 

 

Sansa sighs.

 

 

 

“I think you should be careful.” She states. “And I think, forgive me your grace, but I think I may ask my sister to investigate him.”

 

 

 

Daenerys nods, having thought the same thing herself.

 

 

 

“Thank you for telling me.”

 

 

 

“You also need to know, that Baelish is far more influential than he appears. He set in motion Jon Arryn's death and my father's, he brought down house Tyrell, and he may truly believe we spent the night together.”

 

 

 

Daenerys blinks, taken aback, that was rather a lot of information to get in one breath.

 

 

“I'm sorry.” Daenerys answers. “It must be terribly difficult to tolerate a man that did all that.”

 

 

 

Sansa nods.

 

 

 

“I'm sure you could handle Bastian, but you mustn't underestimate Baelish's ambition.”

 

 

 

“I'm starting to think this husband lark is more trouble than its worth.”

 

 

 

Sansa sends her a small, sad smile then.

 

 

 

“In my experience it definitely is.” 

 

 

 

“I will talk it over with Tyrion.” She confirms, nodding her head.

 

 

 

Daenerys noticed how Sansa eyes kept flicking to her shoulder, eyeing her wound with curiosity. It was hard not to look at it, Daenerys knew that, it was still almost as horrifying as it was when she was hit, the veins around it were always darker, as if the blood was straining to pass it. And it was cold, always cold, in fact, Daenerys wonders if that is why she has been so cold lately. She had multiple layers on around Kingslanding now, even more now she was in the North.

 

 

 

Every Maester they trusted had examined it. None of them had any idea what was wrong with it. Daenerys had insisted everyone stopped fussing eventually, it was ugly, and she was cold, but other than that, there was no lasting damage.

 

 

 

Sansa’s fingers tentatively brush over it and Daenerys' eyes flutter shut at the slight warmth it adds, only for a moment.

 

 

“It’s cold.” She mumbles and Daenerys lets out a laugh.

 

 

 

“Yes, it does that.” 

 

 

 

“Does it hurt?”

 

 

 

“Not anymore.”

 

 

 

“I thought you were going to die.” Sansa says gently, her fingers moving from her shoulder to trail down her arm.

 

 

 

“How very optimistic of you.” She responds dryly.

 

 

 

“You asked to.” Sansa says suddenly, her tone strained. “You looked right at me and begged me to kill you.”

 

 

 

Sansa tries not to think of those nights, the truly terrible ones, where she would grab the wrist of anyone sat close enough to her and beg them to kill her, her eyes so misty, as if she had no idea where she was. Worse still, there were nights where she would beg for her mother. And how heartbreaking that was, to watch the girl screaming for a woman she never knew to help her.

 

 

 

Sansa almost tells her all of that, of when she mistook and serving boy for her brother and shrieked before attempting to scratch his eyes out. She senses Daenerys didn't know any of this and wouldn't want her to relive it.

 

 

 

Daenerys feels her heart drop, she doesn't remember, and she tries not to think about it. But from the look on Sansa's face, she had been convincing.

 

 

 

“I don't remember.” She admits.

 

 

“And one day, you just got better.” Sansa continues. “Quite extraordinary.” Sansa eyes roam over scar for a moment before she looks into her eyes again. “But that's you, isn’t it? Quite extraordinary.”

 

 

 

Daenerys fights down a blush and feels her heart pick up in her chest. In truth, it is Sansa who is extraordinary, how they went from discussing treason to her death to…this, is beyond her. There was nobody like Sansa Stark.

 

 

 

“We should probably leave soon.” Daenerys say, with a hint of regret.

 

 

 

Sansa sends her an odd look.

 

 

 

“It’s dark.”

 

 

 

“They'll be looking for us.”

 

 

 

“Not in the dark, Arya knows better than that.” Sansa explains before glancing down at her hands. “But we can try, if you don't wish to stay.”

 

 

 

She wants nothing more than to stay, but she feels on the edge of spilling her guts and doing something rather foolish. Sansa had kissed her, but that didn't mean she wanted her like that. She had been upset, and now they were both stuck here, barely clothed with nobody else around.

 

 

 

“I want very much to stay.” She replies, looking around the barn and realizing she feels far more comfortable here, with Sansa, than she had in a long while. “I just fear they will be worried.” She lifts Sansa's chin, so the other woman is looking at her. “But I can think of nowhere else I would like to be my lady.”

 

 

 

 

They meet halfway this time, their lips moving slowly against each other as the rain hammers on the fragile structure surrounding them. Sansa's hands move to caress Daenerys' sides, and the woman whimpers in response.

 

 

 

Daenerys pulls away for a moment and locks eyes with Sansa.

 

 

 

“We don't have to.” She says firmly, aware the monumental line they may be about to cross.

 

 

 

Sansa considers this for a moment, a soft smile on her face before she shakes her head and, in a move, Daenerys wasn't sure the other woman was capable of, flips her onto her back and straddles her waist.

 

 

 

“I want to.” She whispers, her eyes never leaving Daenerys’, her hand caressing her cheek.

 

 

 

Daenerys doesn't give much thought to search parties or potential husbands after that.


	15. Ice Remembers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have no fear and check the tags. 
> 
> Thank you for all your lovely comments! 
> 
> For those of you that wanted some smut I promise you my avoidance of it is a blessing in disguise as i wouldn't be able to pull it off. (But I am sorry to disappoint)

They arrive back early in the morning, a purposeful distance between them that Sansa wished didn't have to exist. They had discussed it, upon waking, a mess of tangled limbs.

 

 

Sansa smiles at the memory.

 

 

Arya would be asked to investigate Bastian; Tyrion would also be sent word and Sansa would attempt to work out Baelish's plan. Daenerys wasn't too fond of that part, but it made the most sense.

 

 

Upon walking through the gates Sansa's stomach drops at the sight of Jon, Arya and Brienne all looking ready to go out searching. Jon and Brienne look beyond relieved and Grey Worm and Missandei practically run over to check on Daenerys.

 

 

Arya just smirks.

 

 

“There was a storm.” Daenerys explains as her friends’ fuss over her. “We stayed in an outbuilding in the woods.”

 

 

Arya snorts then and Sansa sends her a glare.

 

 

“Why would you stray so far alone?” Jon asks

 

 

“We didn’t.” Sansa replies, as Lord Baelish approaches.

 

 

“Sansa, thank the seven, you were gone all night.” Baelish exclaims, embracing her.

 

 

She catches Jon’s eye over his shoulder and shakes her head as he steps forward.

 

 

“You left us in quite a hurry my lord.” Daenerys interrupts, scowling.

 

 

“I thought you were right behind me, your grace.” He says, still looking at Sansa, tightening his grip on her arms.

 

 

“You practically dragged my suitor away Lord Baelish, it took me a few moments to collect myself.” Daenerys interrupts again.

 

 

His gaze snaps to Daenerys then, looking her over. Sansa ‘s jaw clenches with the dark expression that passes over his face when he locks eyes with the dragon queen. To her credit, Daenerys doesn't blink, her lips set in a frown of her own.

 

“A million apologies, your grace.” He responds, not sounding at all sincere.

 

 

“You left our sister alone in the middle of the forest?” Arya asks, her glare burning through Baelish's head.

 

 

“And didn't think to mention it?” Brienne cuts in stiffly.

 

 

“I did not think it was pertinent.” Baelish says.

 

 

Sansa has not ever seen the man this disarmed, it’s odd, but satisfying.

 

 

“We shouldn’t have this discussion here.” Jon says suddenly, throwing a look at the gathering crowd. “If you’re sure you are well perhaps, we should go in.”

 

 

“An excellent idea my lord.” Baelish replies, looping his arm through Sansa's and guiding her into Winterfell.

 

 

Patience, she reminds herself, in all things.

 

* * *

 

Daenerys woke the next morning, fully intent to seek out Sansa, wishing to speak with her about her plans to investigate Baelish. She could admit to herself now, that she also had very selfish and personal reasons to seek the other queen out. Memories of their night together had been seared onto her mind and had not left her since they parted company upon arriving at Winterfell.

 

 

She sighs, a small smile on her face as she surveys her room, pulling her covers over herself more as another chill creeps into the room. She was sure it had been warmer. She shakes her head, not wishing to sour the moment. Her eyes land on her furs, her first gift from Sansa, all those months ago and excitement bubbles up her throat.

 

 

However, as soon as she attempted to move, something felt off, her arm was numb, and her body felt heavy. She felt cold, as if her shutters had been opened all night. She panics slightly and attempts to get up, only for blinding pain to overtake her side.

 

 

Missandei comes rushing in in the next moment, Daenerys realised she must have screamed. She half hears her telling Grey Worm to fetch a maester. The man rushing out of the room is the last image she sees before she passes out.

 

 

She wakes again hours later, vaguely aware of long fingers combing through her hair. She sighs contently and moves closer to the source of extra warmth.

 

 

She hears Sansa giggle softly and her eyes fly open, a smile overtaking her tired face.

 

 

“Sansa.” She breathes. “You're here."

 

 

Sansa grins and caresses her face gently, Daenerys leans into the touch, realizing she might look like a lovesick puppy, just now. She found she didn't mind.

 

 

“It’s my turn to watch you.” Sansa explains.

 

 

Daenerys presses her face against Sansa's thigh where it rests near her head.

 

 

“How long was I asleep?”

 

 

Sansa's hand stills for a moment.

 

 

“A couple of days.”

 

 

Daenerys jerks up in shock, a feeling of pain and nausea hitting her again. She grips Sansa's hip, perhaps too tightly, in attempt to ground herself, until the stars disappeared from her vision.

 

 

“What?” She stutters out.

 

 

Sansa wraps Daenerys in an embrace, pulling her close and placing a soft kiss to her forehead. It helped slow Daenerys' heartbeat slightly.

 

 

“We aren't sure.” She whispers. “But we have an idea of who might be able to help.”

 

 

“Who?” Daenerys inquires, worriedly, leaning further into Sansa's embrace, not wanting to question this newfound tactility.

 

 

“Jon has gone to find the Red Woman.” Sansa explains, a slight discomfort in her gaze, as she offers Daenerys a drink she gratefully takes. “He believes she should be easy to find.”

 

 

“The maesters don't know what it is, so you think that woman might?”

 

 

“It’s not normal Daenerys.” Sansa says, sounding distressed. “Look at it.” She grabs a mirror to make the task easier.

 

 

Daenerys looked at it with some hesitance, the veins had gotten darker, her shoulder looked as though a web of blood had appeared, making the skin look even paler. The darkened veins all fed into the wound, which had long scabbed over, but now looked more like a frozen lake than anything else.

 

 

It made feel rather ill, just looking at it. She pushes the mirror down gently and frowns.

 

 

She feels tears prick at her eyes.

 

 

“Has anything like this happened before?” Sansa asks softly.

 

 

 

“I've had headaches and been tired.” Daenerys croaks out, holding back tears at the building feeling of helplessness. “But can you honestly say you haven't?”

 

 

Sansa sighs and Daenerys wants to burrow back under her furs.

 

 

“You need to rest.” Sanaa says, seemingly guessing at Daenerys' thoughts as she gently pushes her to lie back down.

 

 

Daenerys runs her hand down Sansa's arm.

 

 

“Rest with me.” Daenerys requests in a way she hoped was gentle and enticing, not whining.

 

 

Sansa blushes and leans forward.

 

 

“Just for a moment.” She whispers before pressing a quick kiss to Daenerys lips and moving to lie down with her.

 

 

They stay like that for a moment, Daenerys’ head leaning against Sansa’s shoulder, the only sound in the room the roaring of the fire and the women’s breathing. Sansa gently allows her fingers to ghost over the ring that sat on Daenerys’ finger.

 

 

“It was my mother’s.” Daenerys whispers to answer the unspoken question. “All I have of her, her only legacy.”

 

 

Sansa intertwines their fingers for a moment, her eyes remaining on the small ring.

 

 

“You are her legacy.” Sansa replies, her voice quiet and gentle. “You are your mother’s daughter, far more than your father’s.”

 

 

Daenerys feels tears prick her eyes at Sansa’s words, she thinks more of her mother now than ever before; as her family expanded with Jon, seeing the bond the Starks have.

 

 

She hopes her mother would be proud of her.

 

 

Daenerys pushes these feelings down now, not wishing to make herself more vulnerable than she already was, unable to move from this bed.

 

 

She groans in pain a little as she moves to wrap my arms around Sansa's waist, pressing kisses along her jaw.

 

 

“Daenerys…” Sansa mumbles turning her head to face her, preventing anymore kisses.

 

 

“Do I really look that dreadful?” Daenerys asks, only half joking, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

 

 

“You could never look dreadful.” Sansa whispers, twirling a piece of Daenerys's hair between her fingers. “it’s frankly rather insulting.” She teases.

 

 

Daenerys scoffs but sees nothing but sincerity in Sansa's eyes. It was one of the refreshing things about Sansa that Daenerys so adored.

 

 

“You are unwell.” Sansa presses. “and we can’t….” She stops herself and sighs “This is not the barn.”

 

 

“Will you only love me in the barn my lady?” the words leave Daenerys' mouth before she can stop them.

 

 

Fuck.

 

 

Sansa's hand does not still from playing with her hair, she simply looks over Daenerys' shoulder, seemingly deep in thought, ignoring the omission.   

 

 

“You are the queen of Westeros; I am the queen of the North.” She replies. “I believe we are beyond such notions, don't you?”

 

 

Daenerys' brow furrows, Sansa voice was much harder than a moment ago. She didn't understand how the woman that loved her family so fiercely could say such a thing.

 

 

“The notion of companionship?” Daenerys asks, seeking confirmation.

 

Sansa hums.

 

 

Daenerys ignores the screaming pain in her shoulder to shift away from the other woman slightly.

 

 

“How can you say such a thing?” she demands, though she fears her voice portrays how upset she is.

 

 

Sansa sits up, a look of confusion etched onto her features.

 

 

“I can't protect you, what we did could see us both dead.” Sansa replies.

 

 

“I don't need protection.” Daenerys shoots back, irritation creeping up her spine.

 

 

Why had she come here, acting in such a way if she regretted what they had done?

 

 

Sansa scoffs then.

 

 

“No, of course Daenerys Targaryen doesn't think she needs protection.” There’s a venom in Sansa's tone that she hasn't heard before, if they were in any other situation, Daenerys might have found this new bit of information about the woman interesting, but having it directed at her was just upsetting. “Neither did my father or my brother or Jon Arryn or the fucking Tyrells.”

 

 

“I can deal with Baelish.”

 

 

“No.” Sansa laughs bitterly. “You can't.”

 

 

She lets out a breath, Daenerys hopes its one that will help her calm down.

 

 

“Loras Tyrell was locked up and killed for doing exactly what we did.” She says coolly. “Margaery was killed for lying to protect him.”

 

 

“The Tyrells died because of Cersei.” Daenerys interrupts.

 

 

“Yes, and I’m sure the sparrows were very nice to them until that point.” Sansa rubs at her temples, clearly frustrated.

 

 

“You regret what we did.” Daenerys accuses, her distress rising.

 

 

Sansa stops then, hurt flashing across her face. Daenerys swallows, feeling slightly guilty, but she couldn’t think anything else from how she was acting.

 

 

“No.” She whispers. “I don’t know.”

 

 

Daenerys doesn’t stop the compulsion to gently take the other woman’s hand, unable to stand seeing her quite so upset.

 

 

“I don’t understand.” She admits, watching how Sansa could not hold her gaze.

 

 

“Everyone's mistake is thinking they are playing the same game as him. They aren't.”

 

 

Daenerys raises her eyebrows, it wasn’t what she wished to know, but it was an interesting turn for the conversation to take all the same.

 

 

“What do you mean?” she asks, softening her tone even more, putting her confusion aside for a moment.

 

 

“You think you know the game he is playing, so you make your moves according to that.” She begins. “But by the time you catch on, that his game was completely different, you're in a trap he's designed, and it’s too late to get out.”

 

 

Daenerys leans her head against the headboard, attempting to decode this information.

 

 

“I can't promise you that he won't destroy me, to get to you.” Sansa continues, her voice cracking. “I can't risk my family like that, nor can I risk you.”

 

 

Daenerys looks at Sansa then, her eyes were glassy as though she were fighting back tears.

 

 

“He thinks he loves you.” She loathes to claim Baelish’s feeling for Sansa as love, but she's sure that's what the man himself would call them.

 

 

“He loved my mother and betrayed her for less.” Sansa clenches her jaw and Daenerys squeezes her hand reassuringly. “He is so close to what he wants with this, he marries that man to you, uses the information he has about us to cause moral outrage to take you down, Bastian is the king, and he the regent.”

 

 

“Darling…” Daenerys tries.

 

 

“I can't lose anyone else.” Sansa interrupts, just as tear runs down her cheek. “Please.”

 

 

Daenerys kisses Sansa's hand.

 

 

“I won't let that happen.”

 

 

“He's always five steps ahead.” Sansa mumbles, seemingly more to herself than Daenerys, she sounds…tired.

 

 

“We can fix this.” Daenerys tries again.

 

 

Sansa leans her forehead against Daenerys, causing a flutter of hope to well up in her chest.

 

 

“And then what?” Sansa whispers. “This isn't a fairytale Daenerys.”

 

 

Daenerys closes her eyes, her jaw tightening.

 

 

“I would never compare my life to that.” She breathes. “But do you not think we have suffered enough? Been unhappy enough?”

 

 

“I wish it were that simple.”

 

 

Daenerys presses her lips against Sansa's one more time before pulling away slightly, thrilled that the other woman's mouth attempts to follow her own.

 

 

“It could be.” She whispers, before closing the distance again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But has Sansa figured out Baelish's plan????
> 
> While I believe Sansa being confused about her feelings and where she wants them to lead makes sense all I could think writing this was:
> 
> Sansa: To be queen is to be alone, I can have no companion   
> Me: Daenerys is almost lying on top of you  
> Sansa: That is irrelevant


	16. The Red Woman

Sansa paces restlessly outside Daenerys' chambers, wringing her hands nervously in front of her. Arya eyes her from her place leaning against the wall. The Red Woman was currently seeing to Daenerys, she had claimed it would be best if they waited outside, only Jon remained at her side. The hallway was filled with anxious bystanders.

 

 

And Arya of course, who seemed curious, but mostly unfazed by Daenerys' increasingly confusing condition.

 

 

“You'll wear the floor down if you keep pacing.” Arya says, her head tilted back, leaning against the old stone, her eyes shut.

 

 

Sansa scoffs.

 

 

Missandei and Grey Worm weren't faring much better, huddled together, away from the door; Missandei throwing worried glances at it, Grey Worm, glaring at it, as though he could will himself to see through it.

 

 

“If you aren't going to say something helpful, perhaps you should go and help Brienne with the training.” Sansa exclaims.

 

 

“It’s been months since the war, if there were something horribly wrong, she'd already be dead.” The younger woman retorts, sounding almost bored.

 

 

Three sets of eyes snapped to Arya, all varying levels of disbelief at her blasé attitude to the queen's life. She simply shrugs in response. Sansa can admit she has a point, but a tiny part of her wonders whether they can discount it.

 

 

How long had the white walkers waited? There's no reason why this…illness that had overtaken Daenerys couldn't have been dormant too.

 

 

“The Queen won't die.” Grey Worm insists, his gaze rather judgmental.

 

 

Arya stares at him for a moment before shrugging again.  

 

 

Melisandre opens the door in the next moment, signaling the bystanders to file into the room. Jon is seated at Daenerys' bedside. Sansa tries not to let her concern show on her face as she and Arya take a place at the foot of the bed, while Missandei is practically pulled by Daenerys to take a seat on the bed; and Grey Worm stands near the door.

 

 

There is silence for a few moments, and Sansa realises none of them were going to break it.

 

 

“Well?” She sighs, not content with holding a staring competition with every person in the room.

 

 

“There are no poisons in her blood.”

 

 

“We knew that.” Arya says irritably.

 

 

Melisandre throws her a warning look that makes Sansa uneasy.

 

 

“Have you seen it before?” Missandei inquires gently.

 

 

“No.” the woman replies, sounding almost regretful.

 

 

“So, you can't do anything?” Arya pushes.

 

 

“No.” The woman repeats.

 

 

Sansa feels desperation claw up her throat. This was their last-ditch attempt at understanding this, this woman, who birthed a shadow that murdered Renly Baratheon didn't know what it was, who left could?

 

 

“Brilliant.” Arya mutters darkly.

 

 

Jon stands then.

 

 

“Could anybody in the free cities know?” He asks, the question clearly directed at Missandei.

 

 

“I already told you, Tyrion called for anyone and everyone that could help.” Daenerys snaps, clearly annoyed that she was being discussed as though she wasn't in the room.

 

 

“You have not asked the boy?” Melisandre asks.

 

 

Everyone shares the same confused glance.

 

 

“Sam tended to her before.” Jon says slowly.

 

 

He had tended to her multiple times in fact, pawing over book after book with Gilly, for any mention of anything akin to what Daenerys was experiencing. There was nothing.

 

 

“The boy, beyond the wall.” Melisandre explains, looking at all of them as though they were rather stupid.

 

 

The air stills, and nobody dares to breath. She could mean anyone, Sansa reasons. And yet, there was something in her tone, in the way she was looking at them.

 

 

She had tried to avoiding thinking of Bran, dead beyond the wall, so far away from home. She knows what happened plagues Jon, sees the grief and regret in his eyes that he hadn't been able to save him.

 

 

She sees that now, but the pain melts away in a moment and is replaced with rage. Before she can blink, he had forced himself across the room, pinning the woman against the wall, his hands flexing at the hilt of his sword.

 

 

Arya and Grey Worm thankfully move forward too, Arya's hand resting on Jon's arm until he takes a step back.

 

 

“What do you know?” He grits out, Sansa can tell, without seeing his face, that a heavy-set frown would mar his features.

 

 

“I have seen the boy in the flames, the three eyed raven watches the wall.” The woman replies, seemingly unmoved by Jon's outburst.

 

 

“Get out.” Jon spits.

 

 

“Jon…” Sansa tries.

 

 

Jon doesn't waver, clearly shaken by the woman's omission.

 

 

“I will pray for your health, your grace.” The woman casts them all one last look before leaving.

 

 

As soon as the door shuts, Jon whirls round, a fire in his eyes that put Sansa on edge.

 

 

“She's lying.” He insists.

 

 

“Why would she do that?” Sansa asks, walking over to put her hand on his shoulder.

 

 

“He died.” Jon says. “I saw.”

 

 

Sansa sees the tears that fill his eyes and debates whether they should go somewhere more private.

 

 

“A lot was going on.” Arya supplies, concern etched over her features. “Perhaps you were mistaken?”

 

 

“I wouldn't leave my brother there if he were alive.” Jon shouts, making both the sisters jump.

 

 

“Not on purpose.” Arya tries again.

 

 

Jon pushes past both of them to pace the room, before he seems to finally remember that they weren't alone.

 

 

“You saw.” He says to Daenerys desperately. “He died.” His voice was raised again, and Sansa saw sympathy in Daenerys' eyes.

 

 

“I saw that you were about to die.” She whispers, regretfully. “I'm sorry Jon, it all happened so quickl-"

 

 

“I didn't leave him alive.” His voice cracks and Sansa wills her own tears away. “I didn't leave my little brother like that, I wouldn't.”

 

 

Sansa moves forward and pulls Jon into her arms tightly, stroking the back of his neck in a soothing motion.

 

 

“It’s alright.” She whispers, throwing Arya an unsettled look. “it will be alright.”

 

 

She wasn't so sure.

 

 

* * *

 

 

They mobilized a mission within hours, Jon and Arya were still refusing her offer at helping.

 

 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Arya insists.

 

 

Sansa hates it, she screams and shouts and behaves overall very unqueenly. She doesn't care, she couldn't fight in the war, but she could search for Bran. She remembers, vividly, the pain of waiting during the war, having no way to know if her family lived or died.

 

 

They had only just left, a battalion of them, Brienne included, despite the woman's protests at leaving Sansa alone with Baelish. Sansa trusted the woman to search high and low for Bran, when she could not.

 

 

She had all but stormed into Daenerys’ room to complain, petulant though it was. She passed the queen's entourage on her way up and was thankful they would be alone.

 

 

Or so she thought.

 

 

Bastian was sat at her bedside, her hand in his, as he spoke to her in soft tones.

 

 

Daenerys seems to yank her hand from the man's grasp as soon as Sansa enters, sending her an apologetic look. The young man seems none the wiser, looking at her in utter confusion.

 

 

“Your Grace.” He says brightly. “I was just telling Daenerys, I pray for your brother's safe return.”

 

 

Sansa feels her jaw tense and has to remind herself that this man is simply Baelish's pawn, very likely completely unaware of the dangerous game he was walking into. The familiarity after only two meetings with Daenerys did bother her, however.

 

 

“Thank you, my lord.” She replies, working to keep her voice light. “If you don't mind, I need to speak with the queen.”

 

The man looks confused again and Sansa begins to find the look irritating. She wonders how much he knows, whether Baelish simply promised him a beautiful queen. She sighs when the man makes no moves to leave.

 

 

“Now, my lord.” Sansa snaps, her patience diminished.

 

 

The man snaps into action, scrambling to his feet and bowing before leaving. Sansa tries not to feel satisfied by that.

 

 

She all but throws herself onto the bed next to Daenerys, far too exhausted for the time of day it was, her head coming to rest on Daenerys' stomach.

 

 

She closes her eyes, collecting herself for a moment.

 

 

“Well that was rude.” Daenerys teases, her hand coming to weave through Sansa's hair, massaging her scalp gently.

 

 

“I'm terribly sorry, did I interrupt some thrilling intellectual conversation?” She replies dryly.

 

 

“He was just expressing his sorrow at my condition.” Daenerys hums.

 

 

“Has he proposed yet?” Sansa asks, desperately needing a distraction for a moment.

 

 

“Are you jealous my lady?”

 

 

Sansa flips herself over, burying her face into the furs that cover Daenerys' body and groans.

 

 

“You need to think about what you'll say if he does.” She mumbles.

 

 

“And I will.” Daenerys whispers, allowing her hand to resume their ministrations in Sansa's hair. “But I think we have some more pressing matters don't we darling?”

 

 

Sansa looks up at the other woman then, her chin propped up on the furs.

 

 

“They left without me.” Her voice takes on a tone that even she is aware, sounds a lot like whining.

 

 

“There must always be a Stark in Winterfell.” Daenerys hums, her fingers ghosting over Sansa's cheek. 

 

 

She can't help but let out a huff, the words that secured her family's safety for generations not bringing her comfort in that moment.

 

 

“He's my brother.” Sansa replies, leaning into Daenerys' soft touch. “And they want me to sit and wait around.”

 

 

Daenerys sighs and shifts slightly, wincing.

 

 

“They want you to make sure they all have a home to come back to.”

 

 

Sansa groans, knowing she was right. It was all the more irritating.

 

 

She grabs Daenerys' hand and sits up, deciding that she would not wallow in what she was unable to do.

 

 

“How are you feeling?”

 

 

“Cold.” Daenerys replies, looking down at their interlocked hands. “And a little…restless.”

 

 

Sansa raises her eyebrows at her in question.

 

 

“Do you need more blankets?”

 

 

“I need to get out of this bed.” She insists.

 

 

“No.” Sansa replies quickly. “Absolutely not.”

 

 

“Please?”

 

 

Sansa does notice how tired the other woman looks then; her lip jutted out into a pout that she can't help but smile at.

 

 

“it’s colder out there than in here.” Sansa tries.

 

 

And gods was that true, with the constantly stacked fire the room had become more like a furnace.

 

 

“I'll wrap up.” The growing desperation in the woman's voice was obvious. “Sansa, I cannot tell you how much I want your brother to return safely, but even if he does, he might not be able to help.” She continues, and Sansa flinches, having had similar thoughts herself. “I need to try and get used to whatever this is.”

 

 

Sansa sighs.

 

 

“Only for a few moments.” She insists, sending Daenerys a warning look. “I gave a meeting this afternoon, you simply must be back in bed by then.”

 

 

Daenerys nods enthusiastically. Sansa gets up and tries to sort her the warmest furs possible, before slowly attempting to help the Queen stand. She sees Daenerys biting hard on her lower lip, clearly trying to suppress a cry of pain. It makes Sansa's heart ache.

 

 

As soon as her feet hit the floor she stumbles, falling into Sansa's arms, a slight sob leaving her.

 

 

“Daenerys…” Sansa whispers.

 

 

“I'm fine.” She grits out, a fire in her eyes, telling Sansa that she would not dissuade her from leaving this room.

 

 

She wraps her arm around Daenerys' waist, deeming it a far better position of support. She tries not to worry at just how heavily the other woman is relying on her to stay upright.

 

 

They take some slow, tentative steps into the halls of Winterfell.

 


	17. Warmth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little filler-y before the plot propels forward again. But it does have our girls trying to get their shit together.

The halls were quiet, the wind whistling down them, making Daenerys shiver slightly. She sends Sansa a smile when the woman glances at her with worry. She needed this, being in that bed for days had been sending her rather mad.

 

 

“Would you like to visit Missandei?” Sansa asks, her hand tightening on her waist.

 

 

“No.” Daenerys says quickly. “I simply do not wish her to worry.”  She finishes when Sansa casts her a knowing look.

 

 

“It seems to me,” she begins, in that knowing tone, that in any other situation, Daenerys would find rather attractive. “That if you cannot tell your closest friend of your little expedition, that perhaps you know it is foolish?”

 

 

“She worries too much.” Daenerys mumbles, rather embarrassed.

 

 

Sansa simply hums, clearly unconvinced.

 

 

A man rushes down the hallway suddenly, almost barreling into them.

 

 

“Your Grace.” He says, though it wasn't clear who to. “Lord Baelish wishes to know if you will still accompany him for lunch?”

 

 

Daenerys watches with curiosity as there is a slight tick in Sansa's jaw, the only indication that she was annoyed. She is rather pleased she caught it.

 

 

“Of course, just as I told him this morning.” She replies.

 

 

The man looks between the two women for a moment, an odd look on his face. His gaze lingering on Daenerys for a moment too long.  

 

 

“You may go now.” Sansa says in the same authoritative tone she used to get rid of Bastian, it makes Daenerys' stomach flutter slightly.

 

 

The man stares at Daenerys for a moment longer, before excusing himself.  

 

 

“A meeting.” Daenerys mumbles, remembering Sansa's earlier words.

 

 

“You worry too much.” Sansa supplies, echoing Daenerys' earlier sentiments about Missandei.

 

 

“That's different.”

 

 

“I've been handling him for years.” She insists.

 

 

Daenerys doesn't wish to sour their walk with an argument about Baelish of all people.

 

 

“Will you discuss my potential marriage?” She asks, wondering how Sansa was hoping to understand how she intends to ascertain Baelish's plan.

 

 

“I'm not sure.” Sansa says, seeming rather distracted, before she attempts to guide Daenerys through a door.

 

 

“Darling, I don't think I can manage the open air.” She exclaims, attempting to pull Sansa back.

 

 

Its only then does she notice Pod, walking towards them from behind, Daenerys understands that he was left behind in Brienne's stead. She had no idea he was trailing them, and wonders whether the boy is far stealthier than she thought, or if she was simply much more unwell than she wants to admit.

 

 

Sansa smiles at him warmly, seemingly unfazed by his presence. She clearly liked the boy, as did Tyrion by all accounts. Daenerys has spent little time with him, but she has also had positive reports from Grey Worm and according to Sansa, he would be taking over not only for Brienne, but Arya in her absence.

 

 

She is unsure how much information the boy could get about Bastian, he was nowhere near as subtle or terrifying as Sansa's sister. She did assure her that Pod had his own methods of gaining this information, that would be quite useful given their suspicions, but Daenerys didn't push that further.

 

 

“Pod.” She greets. “Would you watch the door for us please?”

 

 

“Of course, your grace.” He replies warmly. “I'm glad to see you back on your feet, your grace.” He says to Daenerys; she smiles and thanks him.

 

 

Sansa's guides Daenerys through the door, that she suddenly recognizes as leading to the small courtyard. The cold of the outside hits her immediately, she almost groans in the pain of it and Sansa drapes her own furs around Daenerys' shoulders, pulling her closer.  

 

 

“I thought the baths might help?” Sansa asks, suddenly sounding very unsure.

 

 

Daenerys breathes a sigh of relief.

 

 

“That sounds lovely.”

 

 

Daenerys represses a swelling feeling of shame as Sansa helps her undress, she has never been good at feeling powerless. Despite everything that has happened between them, Sansa's eyes refuse to stray from Daenerys' face.

 

 

It’s incredibly endearing, if unneeded.

 

 

When her body hits the hot water, she feels herself groan at the brief reprieve the water offers. She wonders, idly, if her body's immunity to heat is part of the problem. But has little time to dwell on it as Sansa joins her in the water.

 

 

Daenerys looks away quickly, a fear of overstepping boundaries overtaking her.

 

 

Her eyes focus on the towels that lay across a table away from the springs, suggesting that Sansa had been planning such a walk for much longer than her protests earlier suggested. Daenerys can't help but smile at that thought.

 

 

This woman really was something else.

 

 

“Is it warm enough?” Sansa’s voice softly cuts through the courtyard, breaking Daenerys from her thoughts.

 

 

“I'm not really the right person to ask.” Daenerys jokes, casting a look to Sansa and winking.

 

 

Sansa frowns.

 

 

“That must be terribly frustrating, just now.”

 

 

Daenerys hums and leans back against sides of the springs, her shoulders engulfed in the water. Her head drops down to Sansa's shoulder, her eyes fluttering closed.

 

 

It would be peaceful, if she hadn't felt Sansa tense as soon as she touched her. She raises her head again and notices the other woman's deeply thoughtful expression.

 

 

She sighs.

 

 

“May I ask you something, my lady?” Daenerys asks, unable to bear not knowing any longer.

 

 

“Of course.” Sansa replies, looking a little confused.

 

 

“What is it that you want?”

 

 

Sansa's frown deepens.

 

 

“I don't believe I understand?”

 

 

“Forgive me, I believe I have been most…forthcoming with my intentions.” Daenerys continues, realizing this was perhaps this worse time to have such a conversation, not least because she could hardly withdraw herself from it with ease in her condition. “And I understand your reservations, perhaps better than most.” Her jaw clenches a little as she speaks, Sansa's eyes were proving terribly distracting. “If my feelings truly aren't reciprocated then we needn't speak of this again my lady, and I will hold no ill will towards you.”

 

 

“Daenerys…” Sansa whispers and she almost can't stand the look on her face as she says it.

 

 

“Your friendship is perhaps the greatest gift that I have been given.” The dragon queen continues hurriedly, tears stinging awkwardly in the corner of her eyes. “What is it that you need?”

 

 

A look of something akin to regret seems to pass over Sansa's features and Daenerys suddenly feels rather ill.

 

 

“Daenerys…” Sansa tries again, and gods how she loved how she said her name. “Trusting people, it hasn't ended well in the past.”

 

 

“And you think me like those people.” Daenerys whispered, she truly did understand where Sansa’s reservations lie, but she didn’t quite know what else she could do to refute them.

 

 

“People who you care for can betray you.” The woman replies, looking almost guilty for saying it. “Surely you know what it is like, to fear people are only viewing you as what you offer them?”

 

 

She did, painfully more so now she was having to find a husband.

 

 

She nods.

 

 

“I could've kept the North if that was what I wanted.” Daenerys claims. “Do you think me so awful that our whole relationship is just a pretense?”  

 

 

It wasn't a fair thing to ask, Daenerys knows that. But it almost feels as though that is what Sansa is suggesting.

 

 

“Of course not.” The woman replies, sounding slightly hurt.

 

 

“What else could I want except for you?” she hated how strained and desperate she was starting to sound but she just wanted to understand.

 

 

If Sansa had no feelings, if it had been a mistake, she could live with that, the other woman's happiness far more important to her than her own feelings. But this felt like Sansa was saying she wanted her but didn't trust her.

 

 

Which Daenerys found unbearable.

 

 

A range of emotions flash across Sansa's face, too fast for Daenerys to register.

 

 

“I'm afraid.” She breathes, so quietly, Daenerys almost doesn't hear her. “When I had nothing, there was nothing left to be taken from me.”  

 

 

Daenerys moves forward, almost instinctively, her forehead gently resting against the other woman's, their hands finding each other under the water. Daenerys is comforted slightly, that Sansa leans into her.

 

 

“I'm afraid too.” She whispers. “I've lost much in my life but losing you Sansa…” she lets out a sigh and closes her eyes. “Is unthinkable.”

 

 

Daenerys' eyes flutter open, and for a beat of silence, the women hold each other's gaze, before their lips collide again.

 

* * *

 

Any feelings of contentment she felt from her time with Daenerys was washed away the moment she stepped into Baelish's chambers. She loathed to leave Daenerys, finding her much more of a comfort just now than Baelish.

 

But she knew she had a duty, she had insisted they keep the man around, simply to secure the knights of the Vale. She was paying for that now.

 

Her relationship with Daenerys still…confused her. She wishes she could be given clarity on it; their feelings were true; she was surer of that every day. But she has seen the horrific consequences of any relationship, even for royalty. Sansa would always hold her family close, but even that was a risk. She was happy when she was with Daenerys, she was the one person who truly appreciated who she was, while allowing her to remember the girl she used to be, if only for a few moments.

 

 

People in this world would always use love against you.

 

 

Especially people like Baelish.

 

 

He was late.

 

 

Her fingers drummed on the table irritably. Her patience was wearing thin, her brother could be alive, Daenerys could be dying, the last place she wanted to be was here.

 

 

The man strolled in, planting a kiss on the top of her head, before taking a seat.

 

 

“I see young Podrick is earning his keep.” Baelish says, pouring himself some wine, not bothering to apologize for his lateness.

 

 

Pod stood watch outside, Sansa didn't see the need to comment.

 

 

“I would have come later if you were busy.” She responds dryly.

 

 

Baelish looks almost taken aback for a moment, before straightening his back.

 

 

“I was speaking with Bastian.” He almost sounds defensive; Sansa can't help but think.

 

 

They both look to the door as servants come in and bring them their food. They had no doubt been waiting until Pod gave the kitchen word that Baelish had arrived.

 

 

Once they are alone again Sansa takes a slow, deliberate sip of her wine, curious as Baelish's demeanor. She almost felt as though she had the obvious upper hand, in this moment. He seemed a little scattered as of late.

 

 

Sansa knew better than to think that wasn't an act as well though.

 

 

“How is he?” She asks finally.   

 

 

“Rather distraught, at the thought of his potential betrothed dying.”

 

 

Sansa's jaw clenches almost painfully at that. She lets out a breath, attempting to calm herself.

 

 

“It is terribly unfortunate.” She answers tightly.

 

 

“Did she say anything to you Sansa?” he inquires, and she bites back another sigh.

 

 

“Just as I said, she was rather confused when you left us, but seemed to like the man well enough.”

 

 

She had told him, many times.

 

 

“I told him to calm down, approach her with less…enthusiasm.” Baelish continues. “We have such a unique opportunity here; it would be a shame for him to sabotage himself. “

 

 

Sansa starts to pick at her food, trying to act as relaxed as possible, Baelish's words about her terrible lying abilities ringing in her ears.

 

 

“It would be wonderful, for them to wed.” She tries to keep her voice level.

 

 

“It would certainly benefit the realm.” Baelish says, smirking.

 

 

“Is he going to ask for her hand, my lord?”

 

 

Baelish sends her an odd look.

 

 

“Do you think now is the right time?”

 

 

Sansa suppresses a groan, feeling a headache coming on. The tone Baelish’s voice had taken was the soft, but condescending lilt it often did when he wanted to teach Sansa something.

 

 

“With her health, it would not be wise, they haven't known each other long enough.” She replies.

 

 

The man’s smirk widens.

 

 

“Good.” He says. “But nothing brings people together like a sickness Sansa.”

 

 

Oh.

 

 

She supposed that made sense. But it would mean she would be seeing more of the man.

 

 

That they would still attempt courting, even when she was at death's door.

 

 

Sansa’s mind flashes back to their time in the springs and suppresses a blush.

 

 

He reaches across the table to hold Sansa's hand; it feels like a lead weight.

 

 

“Wouldn't you agree?” he presses, his look suggesting that he knew something Sansa didn't.

 

 

Sansa felt panic rise up and clog her throat. He didn't know, he couldn't know.

 

 

“I wouldn't know.” She cringes at the strained sound of her own voice.

 

 

He looks at her a moment longer and sighs.

 

 

“She hasn't spoken to you about that night, has she?”

 

 

Sansa considered her options, she could lie, see where that went. But she wanted this conversation to be over.

 

 

“No, my lord.” She casts her eyes down in attempt to look ashamed.

 

 

“Good. You must tell me if she does.”

 

 

Sansa nods and focuses on her food, hoping the man drops the subject.

 

 

She doesn't want to discuss Daenerys, but the silence isn't much better, it puts her on edge, giving her too much time to think of Bran.

 

 

There's a knock at the door and Sansa jumps slightly, disappointed that it is only a knight of the Vale, requesting Baelish's presence. Sansa watches as the man clenches his jaw, so clearly annoyed at the interruption.

 

 

Was he losing his touch? Or was she doing better?

 

 

“The boy, my lord.” The knight says, he's tall, his stature imposing, but he looked nervous. Sansa couldn't remember his name just now.

 

 

“Yes?” Baelish snaps.

 

 

“He has taken a horse.” The man explains, eyeing Baelish fearfully.

 

 

“Bastian?” Sansa interjects, confused for he had been with Baelish only moments ago. Was this his idea?

 

 

“Yes, your grace.”

 

 

 “How in the Seven did that happen?” Baelish grits out.

 

 

“We aren't sure.”

 

 

Baelish stands up then, for a moment, he looks as if he might want to hit the knight. He wouldn’t be that stupid.

 

 

“Go and get him.” He spits, looking rather uncontrolled, just for a moment.  

 

 

The knight casts a desperate glance to Sansa, and she sighs, taking pity on the man.

 

 

“Peytr.” She says, gently, placing her hand on his arm.

 

 

His gaze snaps to her hand for a moment, before he looks her in the eye. He takes a step away from the knight, his hand covering Sansa's.

 

 

“Go and fetch the boy.” He repeats, his voice much calmer.

 

 

The knight looks at Sansa again, she nods her head.

 

 

“It would be very helpful.” She supplies.

 

 

The knight bows and leaves.

 

 

Baelish glares at the door for a moment.

 

 

“Perhaps you should go and help, my lord?”

 

 

Sansa hopes he takes up the offer, wanting very much for this lunch to be over. Not to mention how much her mind was whirring with this new development. She may have been right; Bastian could be Baelish's downfall.

 

 

“Yes, perhaps I should.” He squeezes Sansa's arms as he spoke, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

 

 

Sansa has to repress a flinch.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise Sansa is sorting herself out, i just wrote her as so reflective and worried that it didn't feel natural for her to be totally all in without hesitation. I did say slowburn right?


	18. Battalion's Return

She can't help it, she has much to do, a queen has many duties. And yet again Sansa is knocking on Daenerys' chambers. She attended many meetings, helped much of the small folk but by midday she was driven to distraction.

 

 

 

Missandei opens the door and sends Sansa a dazzling grin, looking as though she wanted to pull her inside. Sansa was surprised how much she got along with the other woman, they both enjoyed reading and Sansa had been happy to learn she had also taken up sewing, in her time in Kingslanding.

 

 

 

Still, she wasn't sure her presence warranted such an excitable reaction.

 

 

 

“She wants to get up.” Missandei whispers as Sansa passes.

 

 

 

“She can hear you.” Daenerys snaps from her place on the bed.

 

 

 

Sansa walks around to the other side of the bed, taking the chair she assumes Missandei wasn't occupying.

 

 

 

“Don't be rude.” Sansa scolds.

 

 

 

Daenerys pouts and looks at Missandei.

 

 

 

“I managed fine yesterday.” She pleads. “Sansa took me, tell her!”

 

 

 

Missandei looks shocked and Sansa swears she scowls a little, at that information.

 

 

 

“We all told you to stay in bed, your grace.” She says, sounding almost annoyed.

 

 

She sends Sansa a little disapproving look.

 

 

 

“Thank you, for getting me in trouble as well.” Sansa mumbles.

 

 

 

Daenerys chuckles and sends Sansa a smile that melts her heart a little. Before she has time to indulge in that feeling, and allow herself to relax, the door smashes open.

 

 

 

Bastian stands, grinning in the doorway, bunches of wildflowers spilling from his arms.

 

 

 

Sansa bites back a sigh, she can’t help but wonder if that was really where the boy had gone the previous day.

 

 

 

“Your grace!” He beams, letting the flowers spill onto the bed.

 

 

 

Missandei glances uneasily at Sansa, both women sharing a look of discomfort.

 

 

 

“My lord.” Daenerys says, sounding almost genuinely happy. “What is all this?”

 

 

 

“Last we spoke, you said you had loved the flowers of high garden and missed them greatly.”

 

 

 

Sansa rolls her eyes.

 

 

 

“Of course, I could not travel there, but I found many beautiful flowers in the woods!”

 

 

 

Gods, where had Baelish found this man? He looked almost besotted with the woman.

 

 

How was he allowing the man to be this reckless?

 

 

 

“That's very kind of you my lord.” Daenerys says, her heart clearly not in it.

 

 

 

Obvious, even to Bastian.

 

 

 

“You dislike them?” He looks a little bit like an injured animal.

 

 

 

“I think her grace is simply tired, my lord.” Missandei speaks up.

 

 

 

Daenerys reaches for the man's hand and smiles at him. This seems to placate him.

 

 

 

“They won't live long.” Sansa observes dryly. “The room is too warm.”

 

 

 

Daenerys sends her an odd look and she simply shrugs.

 

 

 

Baelish hadn't approved this, why had he picked such a wildcard? Sansa felt her fingers drum into the side of her chair. A nervous habit Arya constantly picked on. Things like this made me almost miss Olyver. At least he was clever, deceitful.

 

 

 

This man seemed almost…genuine. It was equal parts irritating and unnerving.

 

 

 

“Oh.” The man says, seemingly defeated.

 

 

 

Sansa sighs.

 

 

“They are lovely though.” She offers.

 

 

 

“Thank you, your grace.”

 

 

 

Sansa observed the man for a moment, his eyes bright. He was either a phenomenal actor, or incredibly honest. Baelish had gone out the previous day to find the boy, and yet, it had taken him this long to return? Simply to bring Daenerys flowers.

 

 

 

Sansa clenched her jaw.

 

 

 

It was odd, that Sansa was always present when the man was with Daenerys, when issues arose.

 

 

 

Almost as though it was planned.

 

 

 

Something a bit like dread coiled in Sansa's stomach as some pieces began to fit themselves together. Baelish had insisted she come on the walk, that he so abruptly ended. She had thought it was about her relationship with Daenerys. But perhaps it was about Bastian, he had been too forward, over and over again. Baelish had told her he disliked it, despite Daenerys having no real issues with it.

 

 

 

Baelish wanted a fall back, needed to introduce the boy, then show distaste. So nobody suspected him of spying. And of course, he didn't do anything outright, he simply planted seeds in their minds. That's what he did, to her mother and aunt, to Sansa and Arya.

 

 

 

Seeds of doubt.

 

 

And Sansa had been doubting him. Not about the spying, that intention was obvious; but about his control over the boy.

 

 

When they were wed, nobody would suspect him, especially if he continued to seem unable to control the boy.

 

 

Oh, the soft idealism in the boy's eyes made a little more sense. Acting or not.

 

 

But why lie to Sansa? He could have told her; did he think her incapable of covering the plan up? She supposes that is grounded in truth, but Sansa had worked hard to make the man believe she was still under his thumb.

 

 

 

She watches as Bastian attempts to arrange the flowers, rather poorly.

 

 

 

Unless…she had lost him.

 

 

Sansa's grinds her teeth, feeling a headache blossoming.

 

 

 

Had he gone back to making her a pawn in his game? Had she ever not been? 

 

 

 

Bastian swore as he pricked his finger on a rose.

 

 

 

Sansa could feel Daenerys’ eyes on her.

 

 

 

Fucking Baelish.

 

 

 

They had to do something about this, sooner, rather than later.

 

 

* * *

 

Daenerys was finishing penning a letter to Tyrion about her health when Jon returned, looking worse for wear. She searched his face for any sign of what happened, it’s almost impossible to tell.

 

 

 

He takes the chair close to Daenerys, his own eyes searching her face. He gives her a small smile.

 

 

 

“How are you feeling?” He whispers.

 

 

 

Daenerys almost laughs, how could he ask that? When he had just been searching for his brother, he thought dead.

 

 

 

“Did you find him?”

 

 

 

She didn't want small talk, not about her health, she was sick of talking about her health.

 

 

 

He nods stiffly.

 

 

 

“Is he…” Daenerys trails off, unsure of what she wants to ask.

 

 

 

Jon grabs her hand, squeezing it reassuringly.

 

 

 

“He’s alive.”

 

 

 

Daenerys notices how red his eyes are then, the way his shoulders are slumped almost painfully.

 

 

 

How young and tired he looks in that moment.

 

 

 

“I'm beyond glad Jon.” Daenerys whispers, her eyes still searching her nephew’s face for the full story. “Is he here?”

 

 

Jon nods again.

 

 

 

“He's not….” He starts, looking down and dread rises in Daenerys's throat. “He still not quite….Bran.”

 

 

 

Daenerys heart breaks a little more then.

 

 

 

“He's alive Jon.” She says, both her hands clasping his. “Does anything else matter?”

 

 

 

Jon looks up at her then, she watches his throat bob slightly, his jaw clenches, before a small smile crosses his features.

 

 

 

“He's alive.” He repeats, almost like a prayer. “My brother is alive.”

 

 

Daenerys smiles.

 

 

 

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, basking in the information.

 

 

 

“He thinks he can help.” Jon says suddenly.

 

 

 

Daenerys almost lets out a sob at that.

 

 

 

She hated to show weakness, but whatever this illness was, was taking its toll.

 

 

 

The exhaustion and the cold had left her feeling helpless.

 

 

 

“He's talking with Sam.” Jon continues. “He'll be here soon.”

 

 

 

Daenerys nods again.

 

 

 

“Thank you.” She whispers and Jon smiles. “Have you told Sansa?”

 

 

 

Jon frowns for a moment and seems to consider Daenerys for a moment.

 

 

 

“Yes.” He confirms. “She was quite pleased.”

 

 

 

Daenerys is too distracted to notice the odd way Jon is looking at her, almost as if he were trying to figure out a riddle.

 

 

 

There is a knock at the door then and Missandei enters, casting Jon a smile.

 

 

"Commander Snow." She greets warmly. "I am glad to see your safe return." 

 

 

"I'm glad to be home my lady." Jon nods, a slight troubled frown lingering on his face. 

 

 

He stands, relinquishing his seat to the new arrival, before excusing himself to check on Bran, promising to return as soon as he could.

 

 

* * *

 

Sansa allows her fingers to run over the grass where she currently sits.

 

 

 

It was a favourite spot of hers, in Winterfell, the hill overlooks the vast open grounds of the North. She could see up the king's road from her seat.

 

 

 

She used to sit there, as a child, and dream of what lay beyond her sight.

 

 

 

Now she cherishes the view of her home.

 

 

 

She was slightly pleased to see Drogon had taken a shine to the spot below the hill as well. The large beast was currently lying across the field, basking in the remaining sunlight.

 

 

 

Sansa had felt guilty for not mentioning to Daenerys just how distressed her child had become at her mystery illness. Nobody had been hurt, but his distaste had been obvious, he'd eaten much less and had flown around the grounds erratically until the woman woke.

 

 

 

Daenerys had made her want to see him quite clear, but they had all talked her down, knowing the worry would do neither of them any good.

 

 

 

Jon approaches slowly, his footsteps light, before sinking down next to Sansa.

 

 

 

Drogon lifts his head to appraise the new arrival, he lets out a breath before dropping his head back down.

 

 

 

They siblings sit in silence for a moment, the only sound filling the air was Dorgon’s breathing.

 

 

 

“Tyrion once told me dragons and riders are connected.” Jon muses. “Not quite like Dire wolves.”

 

 

 

Sansa nods, having heard Joffrey rattle off something similar, his obsession with Targaryens had always perplexed her.

 

 

 

“He said that some say the dragons feel as their mother does.” The man speaks again, his eyes taking in Sansa.

 

 

 

The women’s brow furrowed, slightly confused for a moment.

 

 

“I'm sure Drogon likes you.” She supplies.

 

 

 

Jon laughs then, shaking his head slightly.

 

 

 

“That's not what I meant.” Jon replies and Drogon huffs again. “He never would have let me get this close, when we first met, not without Daenerys.”

 

 

 

Sansa raises an eyebrow and waits for Jon to continue.

 

 

 

“He likes you.” He tries again.

 

 

 

Sansa can't help but roll her eyes she really wishes he would just get to whatever his point is.

 

 

 

“I'm hardly disturbing him.” She shoots back.

 

 

 

“I think she likes you too.” Jon looks awkwardly away from Sansa then.

 

 

 

Gods were they really going to have this conversation?

 

 

 

“Jon, we don't need to do this.”

 

 

 

“We do.” Jon sighs. “I don't want to either.”

 

 

 

“Then don't.” Sansa groans. “Arya has already insisted we talk about it.”

 

 

 

Sansa notices Jon cringe.

 

 

 

“She's not as strong as she makes out.” Jon mumbles.

 

 

 

“I know.” Sansa whispers in reply.

 

 

 

“I'm sure Bran will help.” Her brother attempts to reassure himself, as much as Sansa, she thinks.

 

 

 

Sansa's eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a breath.

 

 

 

She had been overjoyed by Bran's return, but the dread of what would happen next would not release its hold on her.

 

 

 

She didn't want to put this responsibility on him, but they had no other choice. It was hard not to see Bran as the little boy he used to be, even if he was still not quite the person he was.

 

 

 

“I hope so.”

 

 

 

“I think he is ready to see her now.” Jon explains. “I wanted you to know.”

 

 

 

Sansa’s arms tighten around herself anxiety bubbling up her throat.

 

 

 

“Alright.”

 

 

 

Jon rises and holds his hand out to help Sansa up.

 

 

 

She takes one last look at Drogon, who seems to be staring at her intently now, before grasping her brother’s hand and following him back into Winterfell.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Sansa, trying to figure out Baelish's plans would be enough to give anyone a headache.


	19. Quoth the raven

Daenerys wasn't quite sure what to expect, she had many Maesters poke and prod at her for hours, the red woman did much of the same.

 

 

 

Bran Stark did none of these things, he simply looks at her and frowns. It does nothing to stop her heart racing. The boy says nothing, for such a long time, that Daenerys sends Sansa and Jon a confused look.

 

 

 

“What is it Bran?” Jon asks.

 

 

 

Bran stays silent, his gaze simply moves to his brother, his frown deepening.

 

 

 

“The condition has no name.” He says it almost like it should be clear, his voice had a surprising inflection to it, for how blank his face stayed. “It can be cured.”

 

 

 

Daenerys feels the whole room release a breath, she catches eyes with Sansa, who seems to be smiling, just a little bit.

 

 

 

“How?” Missandei asks.

 

 

 

“The children of the forest will help.” Bran explains.

 

 

 

That wasn't really an answer, Daenerys can't help but think, simply someone else they need to go to.

 

 

 

She tries not to let her heart sink at that.

 

 

 

She was becoming rather irritated by the whole thing.

 

 

 

“Take the dragon beyond the wall, find the weirwood tree, the cure will be there.”

 

 

 

Daenerys blinks, surprised.

 

 

 

She had expected him to send Jon, insisting bed rest, as everyone else had.

 

 

 

“Bran she canno-" Jon begins.

 

 

 

“She must, or she will die.”

 

 

 

Daenerys sighs.

 

 

 

“I can do this.” She cuts through anymore protests. “Drogon will protect me.”

 

 

 

“You can barely stand.” Sansa protests suddenly, looking rather desperate.

 

 

 

“You worry too much.” Daenerys replies, trying to reassure the other woman.

 

 

 

They hold each other's gaze for a moment, Daenerys watches how Sansa's jaw clenches almost painfully before she mumbles an excuse and leaves.

 

 

 

Arya shoots Jon a look before following her sister out of the room quickly.

 

 

 

“What will she have to do?” Jon asks, breaking the silence left by the sisters’ departure.

 

 

 

“Just as I said.” Bran speaks again. “Take the dragon beyond the wall.”

 

 

 

“You can't tell us anything else?” Daenerys asks, her eyes glancing toward the door, wishing Sansa hadn't left.

 

 

 

Bran shakes his head.

 

 

 

“It will be clear.”

 

 

 

Missandei looks down, her face a picture of worry.

 

 

 

Daenerys reaches out and grabs her friend's hand.

 

 

 

“Perhaps you could send a raven to Tyrion for me? And tell Grey Worm.” She asks.

 

 

 

Missandei nods, looking slightly relieved at having something to do, before she excuses herself, leaving only Jon, Bran and Daenerys.

 

 

 

“I'm coming with you.” Jon says suddenly.

 

 

 

Daenerys sighs.

 

 

 

“Jon…” She starts.

 

 

 

She's not sure what she wants to say, it doesn't sit well with her, her nephew going with her beyond the wall.

 

 

 

“You can't do this alone.”

 

 

 

Daenerys lets out a breath, she looks between Jon and Bran, anxiety bubbling up her throat.

 

 

 

“I won't be alone.” She replies with conviction. “I'll be with my son.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa hands shake as she takes long strides from Daenerys' room to the courtyard of Winterfell. She doesn't stop, despite the confused looks the Lords send her, despite her sister's voice calling after her.

 

 

 

Her stomach feels like a lead weight has been dropped into it, her head spins and she suddenly feels horribly ill herself. 

 

 

 

She eventually slows down and realizes her feet had carried her to the spot she had left not long ago.

 

 

 

Drogon was still there, but she stood closer to him now.

 

 

 

He lifts his head to stare at her, his eyes gazing deep into her own, Sansa could feel the heat radiating off his huge form from her spot paces away.

 

 

 

Jon was right, it was though he could feel. As though he was trying to speak with her.

 

 

 

He suddenly moves forward slightly, pressing his snout into her hand, puffing out air from his nose. Sansa feels her whole body shake as the dragon lets out a mewl, almost akin to a whine.

 

 

Sansa begins to count her breaths, her heart slowing as she sinks down onto her knees.

 

 

 

For a moment it all hits her, Bran’s return, Daenerys' illness, the confusion and stress, Baelish. Her forehead drops down to rest on the dragon's scales and she feels herself sob against him.

 

 

 

Drogon lets out another whine.

 

 

 

It couldn't have been further than petting ghost, but the dragon seems to press his face against Sansa's.

 

 

 

Just as Ghost did.

 

 

 

Just as Lady had done.

 

 

 

After a few moments she pulls her face away, her hand remains stroking the dragon's scales, grateful for the comfort he had attempted to bring.

 

 

 

She looks behind her to see her sister, standing not far away, an odd look on her face.

 

 

 

It looked as though she was seeing her for the first time.

 

 

 

Sansa tried not to feel so exposed by that.

 

 

 

“He doesn't let anyone else that close.” She observes, taking a step forward.

 

 

 

Sansa lets out a watery laugh at how much like Jon she sounds.

 

 

She moves away from Drogon slightly, her hand touching him gently when he lets out another sound at her movement.

 

.

 

“How would you know that?” She asks softly, clearing her throat.

 

 

 

Arya looks away then, if she didn't know her sister better, she'd say she was embarrassed.

 

 

 

Sansa feels a realization dawn upon her. 

 

 

 

“You always did like stories about dragons the most.” Sansa mumbles, looking between the dragon and her sister.

 

 

 

Her sister who was robbed of her childhood just like Sansa.

 

 

 

Her sister who had always loved tales of dragons and fighters.

 

 

 

Of course, she'd been watching him.

 

 

 

Sansa stands on shaky legs and takes a step away from drogon, towards her sister.

 

 

 

She can see Arya ‘s eyes travelling to him, a small smile on her lips.

 

 

 

She wonders if her sister has ventured this close before.

 

 

 

“You can't go with her.” Arya says suddenly.

 

 

 

Sansa blinks slightly confused.

 

 

 

“I wasn't going to.” She replies, following her sister's eyes to drogon.

 

 

 

“Yes, you were.” Arya scoffs, but her features remain sympathetic.

 

 

 

“I wouldn-"  she begins.

 

 

 

“You're the queen.” Arya interrupts. “The lords would stage a coup.”

 

 

 

Her sister is exaggerating, but a part of her knows her worries are well founded.

 

 

 

But the idea of Daenerys going that far north alone frightened Sansa.

 

 

 

“She could die.” Sansa whispers. “I can't…not again.”

 

 

 

She isn't making sense, but Arya nods, sympathetically.

 

 

 

“Her son won't let anything bad happen.” Her sister replies.

 

 

 

Sansa hums, and both women gaze at Drogon for a moment.

 

 

 

He seems unbothered by them, but Sansa can tell her sister is itching to get closer.

 

 

 

“He won't bite.” Daenerys' voice rings out from behind them, making Sansa whirl round.

 

 

 

She's alone, which is unacceptable in Sansa's opinion, her eyes scan over the other woman, for any signs of distress.

 

 

 

She looks pained but smiles a little wider when Drogon lifts his head.

 

 

 

“Where's Jon?” She asks, taking a step forward.

 

 

 

Daenerys takes a few shaky steps towards the sisters, placing her hand on Sansa's arm, her eyes flickering to Arya for a moment.

 

 

 

“Sulking.” She laughs.

 

 

 

Sansa doesn't find his absence nearly as amusing.

 

 

 

“He's rather good at that.” Arya observes.

 

 

 

Drogon, clearly impatient at the progression of the discussion suddenly stands and moves towards his mother.

 

 

 

Both Arya and Sansa stumble back, clearly not expecting the movement. Daenerys remains in her place, reaching out to comfort her son.

 

 

 

Daenerys gestures Arya to come closer.

 

 

 

“He really won't hurt you Arya.”

 

 

 

Arya strides forward, much more confident than Sansa had been and slowly begins to stroke the dragon. Once Daenerys is satisfied, they will get along, she takes a few steps back until she is at Sansa's side.

 

 

 

 “Are you alright?” She whispers, her eyes remaining on Drogon and Arya.

 

 

 

“I do believe I'm supposed to be asking you that your grace.” Sansa sighs.

 

 

 

Daenerys reaches out and gently take Sansa's hand, turning to face the other woman.

 

 

 

“Sansa…” She breathes.

 

 

 

Sansa's eyes flutter closed, her heart warming at the sound of her name on Daenerys' lips.

 

 

 

“Just promise me.” She interrupts. “Promise me you’ll come back to us.” She lets out a breath, pushing herself to make this omission. “Come back to me.”

 

 

 

Daenerys opens her mouth, seemingly ready to answer, before snapping it shut and surging forward, leaning upwards. Her lips brush against Sansa's almost hesitantly for a moment, before the other woman pulls Daenerys flush against her.

 

 

 

“I promise.” Daenerys mumbles against Sanaa's lips, pulling away slightly.

 

 

 

Sansa nods before her lips chase Daenerys own again, her arms circling around the smaller woman's waist. Daenerys raises her hand to softly caress Sansa's cheek, both women melting into the moment.

 

 

 

After a moment Arya clears her throat, from her position by Drogon.

 

 

 

The jump away from each other, only then remembering they weren’t alone. Sansa's eyes dart from Arya to behind Daenerys, to make sure nobody had seen them, cursing her own foolishness, to do something like that in public.

 

 

 

Satisfied nobody else was around Sansa looks back to Arya, trying not to appear too embarrassed.

 

 

 

“If you're quite finished.” The woman says, smirking at the blushing women.

 

 

 

Drogon huffs then as if in agreement with Arya, and Sansa has to bite her lip, to stop herself from laughing.

 

 

 

Daenerys looks between the three figures for a moment, before leaning up to press a final kiss to Sansa's cheek.

 

 

 

“I have to go.” She whispers before drawing away.

 

 

 

In the last moment, Sansa grabs the Queen's arm, desperation written all over her face.

 

 

 

“I…” she starts, letting out a breath of frustration, realising she has no idea how to communicate her feelings in that moment.

 

 

 

Daenerys seems to understand though, grasping Sansa's arm just as tightly.

 

 

 

“I know.” She breathes, giving her arm a squeeze before moving towards Drogon.

 

 

 

Arya steps towards Sansa, both women watch as the queen mounts Drogon, before casting them one last glance and murmuring an instruction to her son.

 

 

 

Drogon lets out a screech before taking off, the wind his wings create making the sisters wince.

 

 

 

Sansa watches helplessly, tears stinging her eyes, as they disappear into the skyline.

 

 

 

“Aren't you going to say something clever?” Sansa asks, shakily, after a few beats of unbearable silence.

 

 

 

She hears Arya sigh next to her.

 

 

 

“It's not fun if you expect it.” She supplies, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Sansa's arm. It’s odd how far they've both come, Sansa can't help but think. “Come on,” Arya continues. “Your Queen isn't the only one with work to do.”

 

 

 

Sansa's eyes flutter closed, she takes a deep breath, steeling herself, before nodding.

 

 

 

 Both women retreat into Winterfell, with purpose, just as Dorgon becomes a dot in the sky.

 

 


	20. Council

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic surpassed 1000 kudos which is so wild! You guys are the best! 
> 
> Here we are with some plot! And by that I mean in true Game of Thrones fashion its lots of people having a chat!

Pod shifts on his feet awkwardly, no doubt uncomfortable with the multiple sets of eyes on him.

 

 

The man stands before the table in the library, looking between Sansa, Arya, Brienne and Missandei.

 

 

“You're sure?” Sansa asks.

 

 

Pod clears his throat.

 

 

“Yes, your grace, the women they er…” he stumbles over his words a little, glancing around them again.

 

 

Perhaps they should've got Jon to talk to him, it was hardly an easy topic of conversation to have with a Queen, or your mentor. She could've kept Baelish away better than Jon, but she couldn't stomach the idea of not knowing.

 

 

That's how Jon found himself watching over Baelish and Bastian all afternoon with Grey Worm.

 

 

Sansa would most likely owe them both heavily for that.

 

 

“Its fine Pod.” Brienne interjects.

 

 

He stands a little straighter and continues.

 

 

“They said they don't know much about southern brothels, but there's one-"

 

 

“You don't have to tell us her name.” Arya butts in then.

 

 

Pod nods.

 

 

She was right, the less they knew, the better. They didn’t need to implicate the poor girl in any of this, especially if Baelish caught wind of it.

 

 

“She used to work in High Garden and around the reach.” He pauses. “She said she knew him.”

 

 

Sansa sighs.

 

 

It made things slightly easier, in the long run, but was infuriating.

 

 

Baelish hadn't told her any of this.

 

 

Someone from High Garden made sense, it was too south for any northerner to notice, large amounts of their population had died, and he wouldn't be as identifiable as someone from King's Landing.

 

 

That's why he didn't send anybody to Daenerys in King's Landing, he knew she would come here, where nobody could possibly know the boy.

 

 

Sansa felt a headache coming on.

 

 

“Thank you Podrick.” She sends the man a grateful smile before dismissing him with the instruction to send a raven to Tyrion as quickly as he could.

 

 

Once the man has gone, she leans back in her chair, her eyes fixating on the flames of the fireplace opposite.

 

 

“What do we do your grace?” Brienne asks.

 

 

Sansa pinches the bridge of her nose and lets out a long breath.

 

 

“I do not know.” She admits.

 

 

“You don't know?” Arya says. “You were the one that wanted the investigation.”

 

 

“Yes, and we still don't know anything.” Sansa snaps. “He's a whore from the reach, that doesn't tell us anything does it? We knew he wasn't trustworthy; we knew that he was under Bealish's influence.”

 

 

Arya leans back in her own chair now, letting out a huff.

 

 

“He's lying to the queen.” She pushes. “And even if he wasn’t, we have enough information to send him to trial.”

 

 

Sansa grits her teeth, hating that she has to say the next few words.

 

 

“He is a citizen of Westeros, not the North, I cannot sentence him here.”

 

 

It’s the words she repeats over and over, to her sister, to Jon, most of all to herself.

 

 

She wishes she had done it before.

 

 

“And your little Queen can't help with that?” Arya drawls sarcastically.

 

 

Sansa's grip on her chair tightens at that, she had rather hoped the women had come to an understanding after their interaction with Drogon.

 

 

Apparently not.

 

 

Sansa knows that isn't fair, Arya had reasons for acting how she had in the past. Truly believing they were all in Sansa's best interests.

 

 

And now, she was simply angry with Baelish's presence.

 

 

It was understandable.

 

 

“She's not-" She tries, but Arya is clearly at the end of her patience.

 

 

“Oh, of course not.” She whispers dangerously. “He's trying to sell her a whore, I'm sure there's no rules against lying to your queen so outwardly.”

 

 

Sansa leans forward, her arm resting on the old oaken table, ignoring the concerned glances of Missandei and Brienne.

 

 

“Would you want her to do it?” Sansa asks, her own voice taking on a vicious tone to rival her sister's.

 

 

“He killed our father.” Arya spits. “I would simply like him to feel even an ounce of the pain he has inflicted upon this family.”

 

 

Sansa lets out a humorless laugh.

 

 

“And you think I don’t?” She says, her jaw clenching. “Do you not think that I have more reason than most to despise his presence?”

 

 

Arya holds Sansa's gaze; the sisters seemingly having reached a stalemate.  

 

 

There are a few beats of uncomfortable silence.

 

 

“Your grace…” Missandei says suddenly, making both the sisters snap their eyes away from each other. “Forgive me, I believe none of us want Lord Baelish to achieve…whatever awful thing he is planning.” The woman's soft voice seems to cool the tension in the room with every word she speaks. “And tolerating him for so long must have been very difficult…”

 

 

The woman trails off then, seemingly unsure, her eyes scanning the room.

 

 

Sansa feels guilty suddenly.

 

 

“Please continue, I believe we would all value your input.” Sansa encourages.

 

 

“You believe Lord Baelish wishes to marry this Bastian to her grace, then depose her, making him the regent?” Missandei clarifies, making all the women nod. “Forgive me, perhaps it is obvious, but what about Jon?”

 

 

Sansa frowns.

 

 

Jon.

 

 

Oh.

 

 

Baelish didn't know about that, nobody did truly. Jon had renounced his claim privately, with only their family and Sam present. He wanted to live in the north, he was Jon and a Stark, no matter what Bran and Sam had discovered. He hadn't wanted anybody to know.

 

 

If Daenerys was deposed, Jon could easily use his parentage to secure the throne and protect Daenerys.

 

 

“He doesn't know about that.” Sansa whispers.

 

 

“Are you sure?” Missandei questions. “He seems to know a great deal.”

 

 

Sansa looks to Arya, who shrugs.

 

 

“You think he does not wish to depose her?” Brienne inquires.

 

 

“I think…it would be rather foolish, the people have grown to like her grace, she has helped them. They will not know this boy.” Missandei looks to Sansa then. “Your theory, it accounts for the noble’s reaction, but the people, he could not account for them.”

 

 

She was right, Baelish could manipulate a good many people, but the masses. He had never had the opportunity to do that.

 

 

“So, it’s his backup plan.” Arya surmises.

 

 

“I believe that is likely.” Missandei replies.

 

 

Sansa takes a long drink from her wine.

 

 

“He is putting a lot of stock into that boy being able to manipulate Daenerys.” Sansa exclaims.

 

 

Which was ridiculous, he barely held the other woman's attention.

 

 

Missandei looks down then.

 

 

“Perhaps it is not the boy who he wishes to manipulate her.”  

 

 

“Sansa?” Arya asks, disbelief lacing her voice.

 

 

“He thinks you trust him, that you feel in the loop of this courtship, and has even withdrawn much of his protests for your friendship.”

 

 

Sansa tried to ignore how the other woman paused over the word friendship.

 

 

“He was so against it.” Sansa says, her shoulders slumping, feeling slightly sick at the implication that Baelish was attempting to use her relationship with Daenerys to his own ends.

 

 

“He strikes me as an opportunist your grace, perhaps he simply changed his course.” Missandei shrugs, eyeing Sansa sympathetically. “He may have realised that no newcomer could make Daenerys trust him like you could.”

 

 

Sansa rubbed her temples.

 

 

She truly believed that nobody should trust Baelish, and assumed the man knew that.

 

 

Every time she believed she had ascertained Baelish's plans, new information or variables came into play. Missandei was right, seeking to manipulate Daenerys on the throne would be easier than usurping her, that was far too chaotic, especially if their assumption about using her relationship with Sansa was correct.

 

 

Sansa wasn't Olyvar, and Daenerys wasn't simply a knight in the king’s guard.

 

 

“Or…” Missandei continues, hesitance lacing her voice. “Is it possible this is much of a test for you, as it is a plan for Daenerys?”

 

 

Sansa swallows and works to unclench her jaw.

 

 

“What do you mean?” Brienne asks, leaning forward with interest.

 

 

“From what you’ve said the man is clever, but this seems almost foolish.” Missandei replies. “He has allowed you to believe you are part of this plot, and yet he constantly makes mistakes around you.”

 

 

Arya nods across the table then.

 

 

“He left you together in the woods, you said he seems much less in control of him.” Her sister voices. “Whenever Bastian does something foolish, you are present.”

 

 

“He wants us to find him out.” Sansa breathes, still not quite convinced.

 

 

Why would he want that?

 

 

“Perhaps.” Missandei whispers. “He could be attempting to provoke her grace.”

 

 

That couldn't be it, surely. Daenerys had lost much in the battles against the dead and Cersei, but she could still quash any war with the North.

 

 

“War isn’t his style.” Sansa replies.

 

 

“It wouldn't be his war though.” Arya sighs and Sansa raises her eyebrows in question. “You have allowed him to believe you have continued loyalty to him.” There is no accusation in her sister’s voice this time, only truth. “He would have your protection.”

 

 

“Daenerys would beat us.” Sansa tries again.

 

 

“Cersei placed the civilians in the keep as she believed Daenerys’ mercy was her weakness.” Missandei explains. “He encouraged your relationship, because he believes you may see it as he does.”

 

 

“He does not need an all-out war; any instability could threaten Daenerys.” Sansa sighs, feeling the possibility that Baelish wished to be caught, to expose Daenerys as the cruel leader he saw her to be, to be more likely. All while staying safe under the protection, he was sure Sansa would grant him.

 

 

She wasn't that, and executing Baelish is no proof of such a thing.

 

 

But Bastian, or whoever he is.

 

 

Anyone that tried to defend Baelish through misguided loyalty.

 

 

The collateral damage that would surely come before Baelish believed she could get close to him.

 

 

The people would not take kindly to that.

 

 

Spring was young, people were afraid, Baelish's plan takes advantage of them all.

 

 

In all her patience Sansa had forgotten that Baelish too, was no stranger to waiting.  

 

 

“No.” She says again. “He would seek to manipulate her, depose her even, he cannot control wars.” Sansa pauses. “He wouldn’t encourage a friendship with Daenerys, if he expected me to turn on her.”

 

 

“You said he thinks Sansa sees their relationship the same way he does.” Arya interjects, ignoring Sansa and looking to Missandei. “What do you mean.”

 

 

Missandei casts Sansa a look.

 

 

“You told him you spent a regrettable night together.” She begins, making Sansa shift in her seat almost guiltily. “Since then you have only discussed the benefits of her courtship with that man.”

 

 

“So?” Brienne asks.

 

 

Missandei sighs.

 

 

“Perhaps he believes that Daenerys’ mercy is her weakness as Cersei did.” She clarifies. “She will be angry with him and the boy but hesitate when it comes to you.”

 

 

The table is enveloped in silence for a moment.

 

 

“I’m the citizens in the keep.” Sansa mumbles, and Missandei nods in reply.

 

 

“I would not presume to know the man better than you.” She continues. “But I believe we should consider the worst option.”

 

“He plunged the realm into chaos before.” Arya reminds them. “Our feud with the Lannisters was hardly without bloodshed or war.”

 

 

“He wants the throne; this wouldn’t get him the throne.”  Brienne says.

 

 

“If he causes a war with the North and the South whoever wins would get both thrones.” Sansa replies.

 

 

“I could be wrong you grace.” Missandei claims, sending Sansa a pitying look.

 

 

Sansa leans back in her chair, taking a sip of wine, recalling a memory from what feels like years ago now.

 

 

“Sometimes when I want to understand a person’s motives, I play a little game.” Sansa begins. “What is the worst reason he has for bringing this man here?”

 

 

The women all share a look and Sansa sighs.

 

* * *

 

 

Sansa almost felt sorry for Bastian as he chatted animatedly to her and Baelish about proposing to Daenerys.

 

 

It was an exercise in Sansa's patience as well.

 

 

“You must wait of course, until the queen is quite well.” Baelish says, when the boy has paused to take a breath.

 

 

Bastian nods.

 

 

“Will we follow her to King's Landing my lord?”

 

 

Sansa's eyes move to Baelish curiously.

 

 

“We'll see.” He replies. “Has the queen mentioned how long she will be staying?”

 

 

The question is clearly directed at her, his eyes boring into her.

 

 

“No, my lord.”

 

 

It wasn't a lie, not really.

 

 

All good lies were based on truth after all.

 

 

“A pity.” He replies. “I'm sure the wedding will be a sight to behold.”

 

 

Sansa's jaw clenches painfully.

 

 

“Will you come your grace?” Bastian asks suddenly.

 

 

Sansa's heart drops.

 

 

It won't get that far.

 

 

She repeats this over and over while Baelish places his hand on her arm.

 

 

“Of course, she will.” Baelish assures the man.

 

 

“The Queen is lucky to have such a good friend.” Bastian sends her a warm smile.

 

 

It is I who is lucky, Sansa thinks, but simply smiles at the man in return.

 

 

“Isn't she just.” Baelish replies, squeezing Sansa's arm. “I'm sure queen Sansa would be happy to help you in any way she can.”

 

 

Gods how she hoped Daenerys would be back soon so their plan could be enacted.

 

 

Patience, Sansa thinks. Even in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missandei is truly just super smart and I refuse to believe any situation where she isn't Daenerys' right hand woman and the person she trusts in all things. 
> 
> Anyway! You survived a whole chapter reading about Baelish! Some people finally put their heads together to attempt to figure this out instead of poor Sansa overthinking everything. Are any of their theories right? Who Knows! 
> 
> Next chapter we get to see Daenerys' lil adventure beyond the wall! Which should hopefully be up soon!


	21. The Blood of Old Valyria Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know i said we see Daenerys' Northern Adventure in this chapter, and we see a bit of it! I just split it into two parts...but it does have one of my favourite scenes in it as well!

Daenerys leans heavily on Drogon as they soar through the air, having passed what was left of the wall, seeing some rebuilding it, and the few wilding villages, she knew she was close now. It was odd, to see the North with such a light dusting of snow. She squeezes her eyes shut, the cold air feeling like knives to her body, her heart clenching painfully.

 

 

Drogon lets out a whine and she finally forces her eyes open, her vision blurry, she notices a red speck ahead and guides Drogon to it.

 

 

The weirwood tree stood as the only spot of colour in the otherwise snowy wasteland.

 

 

Drogon lands not far away, near a snowy tundra, with a thud. Daenerys has to relinquish her weight to him as she dismounts, wincing in pain. Her whole body seems to shiver as the icy wind hits her.

 

 

Bran had told her to come here, and Daenerys had felt deeply that she must do this alone.

 

 

She regretted that now, any companion would've settled her pounding heart.

 

 

Jon knew the landscape north of the wall.

 

 

Grey Worm would've provided familiarity, a friend.

 

 

Sansa….

 

 

Gods there were hundreds of reasons she wished Sansa was there with her.

 

 

She approached slowly, seeing a small gathering of the children of the forest.

 

 

Daenerys had never seen them before, their title was apt, they looked so much like children Daenerys almost stopped. A pair of eyes locked onto hers, the wide eyes stared at her, unblinking.

 

 

The Queen had to fight down the urge to fidget.

 

 

“Hello…” She says, slowly. “I'm Daenerys.”

 

 

All their eyes snapped to her then, there were six of them altogether, their skin almost like petrified wood.

 

 

“Hello Daenerys Targaryen.”

 

 

Daenerys had always needed to know everything, as a child it had been a great frustration. She suspects that she won't ever truly understand these people, and how they connect to Brandon Stark.

 

 

Daenerys looks back to Drogon for a moment.

 

 

“Bran sent me.” She supplies, feeling slightly awkward.

 

 

This was a holy place; Sansa had told her that.

 

 

She felt out of place.

 

 

One of the children steps forward and reaches out her hand.

 

 

Daenerys eyes it dubiously.

 

 

“Can you help me?” She whispers.

 

 

The child does not respond, simply gazes at Daenerys a moment longer.

 

 

Daenerys takes a deep breath and clenches her jaw.

 

 

 

She was a dragon.

 

 

The blood of old Valyria, ran through her veins. 

 

 

A dragon is not afraid.

 

 

She takes the hand.

 

 

* * *

 

Sansa let’s out a nervous breath as she stands in front of the large oak door. She knows her nerves were foolish, but it did not stop the anxiety bubbling up her throat. She smooths her hands over her dress before gently knocking the door.

 

 

There is a pause, before she hears some shuffling inside and Grey Worm opens the door. A slight flicker of shock appears on his face before he fixes his neutral expression back in its place; its slight, and if Sansa did not spend so much time deciphering Arya nowadays, she would have missed it.

 

 

She knew the man had been on duty with Jon until recently and felt rather guilty at invading the couple's space.

 

 

“You Grace.” He greets. “Is everything alright?”

 

 

Before Sansa can respond Missandei appears at the door, a worried look on her face, slipping her hand into Grey Worm's.

 

 

“Your Grace, is there news from beyond the wall?” Missandei asks, and guilt pushes on Sansa's chest for making them worry.

 

 

“No, no, everything is alright.” Sansa responds, sending them both a reassuring smile, before she looks down the hall she had come from, to ensure nobody was around. “I was simply hoping we could speak?”

 

 

 

The couple share a look for a moment before they gesture for Sansa to come inside. They had been given the rooms next to Daenerys, it had one of Sansa's favourite views in the castle, it overlooked much of the woods, but was not low enough to infringe on privacy.

 

 

Sansa smiles as Grey Worm tugs at their bed covers which were strewn across their bed. He looks almost embarrassed, Sansa had not had many interactions with the man, but she understood that he had built quite the bond with Jon; she had seen him train with Arya in the past few days as well.

 

 

Missandei still seems slightly tense as she offers Sansa a seat at their table. Both women take their seats and Grey Worm goes to stand behind Missandei.

 

 

“Please sit.” Sansa asks, gesturing to the empty chair in between the women.

 

 

Grey Worm holds her gaze for a moment, considering this request before taking the seat.

 

 

The three sit in silence for a moment as Sansa ponders how to broach the conversation.

 

 

“You said the people have taken to her.” She begins, trying not the cringe at her own lack of eloquence.

 

 

Missandei clasps her hands in front of her on the table before she nods.

 

 

“I believe they have your grace.” She replies, casting a look to Grey Worm.

 

 

“Jon tells me you oversaw some of the rebuilding of fleabottom before coming North, is this your experience of the people as well?” Sansa inquires, looking to Grey Worm herself now.

 

 

The man remains stiff in his seat, a thoughtful expression flickering across his face.

 

 

“Yes, they seem very pleased.” He says. “Many come to visit her, when she comes out into the city.”

 

 

Sansa considers this information.

 

 

“I am glad.” She begins. “Ruling in that city is not easy.”

 

 

It has caused the death of many.

 

 

There’s a few more beats of silence and Sansa realizes none of them have the disposition to drive them to fill it with inane chatter.

 

 

“I worry for her.” Sansa admits, looking out of the window instead of at the couple. “To know she has not just advisors but friends too, is a comfort.”

 

 

“Your grace.” Missandei interrupts tentatively. “While we appreciate the visit, if something is the matter we cannot help unless you tell us what it is.”

 

 

Sansa sighs and fiddles with her sleeve, a nervous tick she still couldn’t shake.

 

 

“I care for her, very much.” She says forcing herself to look at Missandei as she does. “But I’m afraid, if what we have…” Sansa swallows, feeling a lump form in her throat. “if it were to go wrong…”

 

 

She isn't sure if she is making much sense, but Missandei looks at her with understanding.

 

 

“I understand this.” Grey Worm speaks suddenly, causing both women to look at him. “The Unsullied are trained to have no fear.” He explains and Sansa notices how Missandei reaches for the man's hand on the table. “This is what makes us good soldiers, all fears are confronted, he overcomes it, even if he dies doing so.”  Grey Worm's gaze is fixed outside of the window as he speaks. “Love gave me fear.”

 

 

Sansa’s gaze moves between the couple, as Grey Worm turns to smile at Missandei. She feels an ache in her heart, a longing to see Daenerys.

 

 

“But fear is not weakness.” He continues. “Not when it is love, love made me stronger, a better person, not just a soldier.”

 

 

Sansa let’s out a breath.

 

 

“Is it that simple?” She asks, her voice quiet.

 

 

“No.” He replies. “But to run from it, that would be weakness.”

 

 

Missandei sends Sansa a supportive smile and she nods.

 

 

“Thank you.” The queen whispers.

 

 

Sansa considers staying, of talking with them further, perhaps offering more books but from the way the couple are looking at each other she thinks she has taken up another of their time already.

 

 

“I shall leave you in peace.” Sansa says, standing.

 

 

She is halfway to the door when she hears Missandei speak again.

 

 

“You are right your grace.” She says, her tone slightly sterner than a moment ago. “She is not just our queen; she is our friend.”

 

 

Sansa turns around to look at the woman, still sat at the table near the window.

 

 

“I understand your pain, truly and I know that you are afraid, and that this must be difficult.” She continues, her eyes closing for a moment. “They say that the blood of old Valyria has magic in it, some people think she's a god, I think this is the only way for some of them to understand how a woman could walk through flames and come out unharmed, with three dragon eggs.”

 

 

Sansa furrows her brow, trying to decode the information presented to her, sensing it was important.

 

 

“I have studied many cultures, with many languages, all with different gods. I have also experienced and seen things that make me question if there are any gods at all.” Missandei smiles as Grey Worm squeezes her hand where they still rest on the table. “Her blood may have magic in it, but Daenerys' heart is just as mortal as ours Sansa.”

 

 

Sansa looks down, her hands clasped in front of her, fidgeting.

 

 

“Protect yourself, I could never ask a woman with your pain to do anything less." Missandei finishes, staring at Sansa. “But please, don't hurt her.”

 

 

“I would never want to do that.” Sansa whispers.

 

 

Missandei stands up and walks over, gently placing her arms on Sansa's forearms, squeezing them softly.

 

 

“I believe you.” She whispers. “And I believe you could make each other happy, if you were willing it take the risk.”

 

 

Sansa nods, feeling a tear stream down her cheek.

 

 

“Thank you.” She whispers in reply, sending the woman a watery smile.

 

 

 


	22. The Blood of Old Valyria Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took longer than normal! If anyone is still on this train with me I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Warning much angst ahead!

Daenerys sits cross legged on the floor of the damp cave, the children of the forest around her. The one who had guided her in, that Daenerys can only assume speaks for them, takes a seat next to her, as the other follow suit, sitting in a circle.

 

 

The dragon queen swallows heavily, forcing down the shivers from the biting cold.

 

 

“What is it?” she asks after another unbearable silence.

 

 

The children eye her with unreadable expressions, before two moved to arrange a bundle of sticks and leaves, tending them until a fire lights in the centre of the circle. Daenerys is grateful for the warmth but feels a slight irritation claw at her throat; she was still non the wiser of what had overtaken her body.

 

 

“Look into the flames Daenerys.” The children prompt her. “What do you see?”

 

 

Daenerys shifts uncomfortably, allowing her eyes to rest on the flickering flames in front of her. For a moment she sees nothing, but she feels all of their eyes on her, so she leans forward her fingers digging into the soft ground underneath her.

 

 

Suddenly, two of the children grab her arms tightly, making her yelp in surprise. Her instincts tell her to struggle, to leave, but despite their size the children easily overpower her.

 

 

“Have no fear Daenerys.” One says, “The gods of nature have given us the gift of sight, you will see as we see, the fire will help with this.”

 

 

Daenerys can’t say that was particularly comforting but feels the iron grips on her arm tighten as something in the flames catch her eye.

 

 

She glances at the creatures holding her arms and notes how their large, childlike eyes had rolled into the back of their heads, not unlike Brandon Stark’s did.

 

 

Her breaths become shallower, as the ground beneath her seems to shake slightly. She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, before she focuses them back on the flames.

 

 

She sees the children, thousands of them, living so long ago. She sees their magic, feels it for a moment pass over her, making her jaw clench painfully. In the blink of an eye the vision changes; she sees the war between the first men and the children, she can hear the screams; can almost smell the stench of death.

 

 

She lets out a heavy breath as she sees what happens next; one of the Children approaches a man, bound by a tree with something akin to a dagger. The man squirms and shouts in fear, but to Daenerys' surprise; the Children of the Forest too seem almost afraid. She winces as the object is stabbed into the man's chest, where his heart rests. Tears sting at her eyes as the man cries out in agony, trashing around while his eyes slowly turn cold, lifeless and a light blue that she's sure, after her own dealings with the White Walkers will haunt her till the end of her days. 

 

 

She feels panic seize her heart and tries again to free her arms from the children’s grip to no avail. Blood roars in her ears as the war continues to unfold; until finally, the hoards of the dead turn on the Children as well.

 

 

The screams become deafening as tears spill from Daenerys eyes, she watches as the First Men and the Children attempt to desperately defeat the White Walkers. Just when she thinks she cannot take anymore, the only thing left in the flames is the Night King, his eyes boring into her own, something akin to a smirk on his face.

 

 

The children suddenly let go of her arms and Daenerys lets out a sob as the vision finally fades.

 

 

The only sound in the cave is the crackling of the fire and Daenerys’ gasping breaths.

 

 

“It was you?” She asks, her voice cracking.

 

 

The children do not react for a moment.

 

 

“Did you recognize it?” Their leader asks.

 

 

Daenerys wants to scream but simply stares in confusion.

 

 

“The spear that struck you.” One of the Children that held her arm prompts.

 

 

Daenerys shakes her head, her body trembling. 

 

 

“I don’t understand.” She whispers, searching her mind for what they could mean. Realization dawns on her slowly as her mind is filled with the screams of the first White Walker. “That doesn’t make sense.”

 

 

She thought the knowledge of her condition would help, that finally understanding what was happening to her would bring her peace; but the thought of becoming one of them, a White Walker, was more terrifying than any unknown possibility. She remembers the Night King's smirk when dragon fire had not hurt him and feels her lungs constrict.

 

 

“They freed themselves from our control, they mastered the power of the magic.” The Child explains, their expression unreadable.

 

 

Daenerys shakes her head, desperate for any other explanation.

 

 

“But I’m not one of them.” She argues, her mind whirring, more to herself than them. 

 

 

“You have your own magic Daenerys Targaryen, they may have mastered ice, but you have fire.”

 

 

Daenerys blinks, allowing the words to wash over her.

 

 

“But something is happening to me.” She mumbles.

 

 

The Children nod.

 

 

“Your magic saved you, but the battle is still going on inside you, the battle between ice and fire.”

 

 

Daenerys runs her hand through her hair, frustrated.

 

 

“Why now?” She asks, her voice more desperate than she would like.

 

 

“It is old magic that runs through your veins, the blood of Old Valyria protected you for as long as it could.” One of them replies.

 

 

“Can you stop it?”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Daenerys' body writhes on the ground as the children of the forest pin her down. They had told her to lie down, before giving her a sickly orange and green liquid to drink.

 

 

She had gagged at the first taste, pushing the drink away, before the children had pinned her down, forcing the rest of it down her throat.

 

 

Panic had risen through Daenerys until the burning started.

 

 

The unburnt they called her.

 

 

She was burning now.

 

 

Her body seized painfully as her blood seemed to almost boil.

 

 

She sobbed and heaved and tried to claw her way out of that cave.

 

 

The children were unwavering though.

 

 

She lets out another sob as she realised this was how she was going to die.

 

 

She heard Drogon screech outside and wondered if her son had realised this too.

 

 

She was going to die, far beyond the wall, all alone, her blood burning her to death.

 

 

How ironic that was.

 

 

Her cheek presses against the dirt as she lets out another gut-wrenching sob.

 

 

She thinks of Sansa, as her head begins to spin.

 

 

She wouldn't go back to her; she would break her promise.

 

 

“I’m sorry.” She sobs out to nobody in particular, in the hope Sansa may hear her, that the other woman would know that Daenerys would drag herself back to Winterfell if she had to.

 

 

She would never again hear Sansa's laugh, feel her body against hers, see her smile.

 

 

And gods that burned almost as much as whatever they made her drink.

 

 

They had said her blood was magic, but it was doing nothing to help her now. 

 

 

In the next moment, the children force her to drink another liquid, red this time.

 

 

She coughs and splutters.

 

 

The burning slowly ebbs away, dwindling piece by piece as she regained feeling in her body.

 

 

She sucks in desperate breaths, her lungs burning.

 

 

She sits up slowly, as one of the children offers her a sheepskin to drink from.

 

 

She eyes it with caution.

 

 

“It is water.” They supply, pushing it closer.

 

 

Daenerys reaches out a shaky hand and sips it slowly, relieved when nothing else begins to burn.

 

 

“Did you…” She starts. “Will I be alright?”

 

 

The children exchange a look.

 

 

“You are cured Daenerys Targaryen.” The one who led her in says.

 

 

She sighs in relief.

 

 

“You’re sure?” she inquires.

 

 

They all nod, and the woman wants to sob, relieved that this could finally be over. 

 

 

She could keep her promise.


	23. A happy return

Sansa’s hands skim over the worn wood of the balcony overlooking the courtyard of Winterfell. It was strange, how strongly she felt her parents’ presence here. It was as though they were overlooking the citizens of Winterfell with her.

 

 

Her eyes roam over her people, Pod trains with a group of soldiers as Jon and Brienne drill with others. Siblings play together, so reminding her of her own, as parents watch on, exasperated. Merchants sell fruits, flowers and gifts. Sansa fights to suppress a grin at the sight of Arya squaring up against Gendry.

 

 

The war had taken so much from them all, but Winterfell could heal them.

 

 

Sansa let’s out a sigh as she sees Baelish and Bastian return from their walk.

 

 

They did that often now.

 

 

Watching him walk around her home, her family's home, like he had some ownership of it made her skin crawl.

 

 

The discomfort only lasted a moment, as she saw Ghost trot up to Arya, almost knocking her over.

 

 

They were stronger in Winterfell; he could not take anything else from them.

 

 

She catches Arya’s eyes from across the yard and both sisters smile, just a little.

 

 

It was almost poetic, that she would return then.

 

 

Drogon’s wings skim the castle walls, a sound leaving him that seemed like a contented yelp as he passed over the courtyard.

 

 

Sansa’s smile only widened as she saw Baelish flinch out of the corner of her eye.

 

 

She had to remind herself not to run, she was a queen, greeting another queen. Her people were everywhere, watching with interest as she strides past them. She’s vaguely aware of Arya and Jon trailing behind her.

 

 

The dragon had landed not far from the gates, letting out a roar of delight.

 

 

Daenerys slides off her son and suddenly Jon is running past Sansa, to embrace his aunt. Sansa casts a glance back, to make sure they weren't followed. Arya sends her a smirk and shakes her head to quell her worries.

 

 

Daenerys squeezes Jon's shoulders and takes a step away, her gaze moving to Sansa.

 

 

Sansa let’s out a breath of relief, butterflies swimming around her stomach, her heart pounding. They stare at each other for a moment, Daenerys sending her an almost shy smile.

 

 

Daenerys takes a slow step away from Jon, her eyes never leaving Sansa's, the smile practically splitting her face. Sansa mirrors her steps, slow and considered.

 

 

Suddenly they are almost running to meet in the middle, embracing each other tightly. Sansa's arms cling tightly around Daenerys' waist, lifting her off the ground for a moment, making the woman squeal. Sansa buries her nose in the other woman's hair; while Daenerys’ face presses against her neck, laying a soft kiss there. They stay there for a moment, until a laugh bubbles up Sansa’s throat, making Daenerys pull back, a question in her eyes.

 

 

Sansa shakes her head in dismissal.

 

 

“Hello.” She breathes, after she collects herself, gently setting Daenerys squarely back on the ground, her arms loosening around her. “Are you quite well?”

 

 

A million questions burn on her tongue but that's all she can say, she wants to laugh again, at the absurdity of all this.

 

 

Daenerys laughs for the both of them, her forehead resting in the nape of Sansa's neck for a moment.

 

 

“I am now my lady.” She whispers.

 

 

Arya snorts and Sansa sends her a glare.

 

 

“Not to interrupt.” Her sister says, sarcasm lacing her voice. “But we were not the only ones waiting for the queen's return.”

 

 

Missandei and Grey Worm.

 

 

Sansa curses herself for not letting them know, if they had been outside, they surely would've followed.

 

 

Daenerys sends Sansa another warm smile, placing a kiss on her cheek, before the group take their short journey back to Winterfell. Sansa’s hands itch to reach out towards Daenerys, not content with the distance they had created to keep up their charade.

 

 

Word had clearly spread quickly as Grey Worm and Missandei were ready to greet them at the gate.

 

 

Daenerys embraces Missandei tightly whispering words Sansa cannot hear.

 

 

She lays a gentle hand on Grey Worm’s arm, sending him a warm smile. 

 

 

Sansa watches them interact for a moment, warmth filling her heart at the sight. It almost feels like a dream, to see her back here, looking so filled with life and joy.

 

 

“Once you're less distracted.” Arya starts at her side, her eyes trained on Daenerys. “You will make sure she gets on with it won't you?”

 

 

Sansa wants to laugh, at the light teasing in her sister's tone, so different from months ago. She was struck again, by how far they'd come.

 

 

“We will do our part, as I’m sure you will do yours.” Sansa replies, turning to face her sister, sending her a small smile when their eyes meet.

 

 

The corner of Arya’s mouth twitches up slightly.

 

 

“Be careful.” Jon mumbles, not for the first time, before he steps away.

 

 

He didn’t like their plan. His nature was too honest, too blunt to ever really be on board with it. Ultimately, this was Baelish's game, you couldn't very well beat a man playing chess, if you played draughts.

 

 

Jon and Arya hadn't liked that metaphor, insisting it didn’t matter what game a man was playing if you had a knife to their throat.

 

 

Which was right, she supposed. But sometimes situations call for more delicacy than that.

 

 

She hoped Daenerys would agree, Missandei had assured them that the queen would be pleased with the plan, but there was never a guarantee with such a thing.

 

 

As if she could sense her worry, Daenerys chooses that moment to turn around. She sends Sansa a dazzling smile that causes her breath to catch in her throat and warmth to spread through her chest. 


	24. The Calm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started this a thousand years ago I did promise fluff, and we are almost at the end but here we are!!!
> 
> Thanks for your patience I know its been a while!!

Daenerys giggles and weaves her hand gently into Sansa's hair as the other woman lazily trails kisses along her collarbone. Her lips brush against the scar on her shoulder, it looks duller now, it almost blended in with the other marks that littered her body, a reminder of battles fought.

 

 

 Daenerys takes the opportunity to press a kiss to the top of Sansa's head, her nose buried deep within her red hair for a moment.

 

 

A wave of comfort washed over her as she inhaled, and the earthy and citrus scent that was so utterly Sansa overtook her.

 

 

It reminded her of something deeply buried. A memory of a faded red door and a lemon tree; the sense of a life she could never quite grasp. 

 

 

It smelled almost like home.

 

 

Perhaps she could be her new home, Daenerys thinks.

 

 

Sansa pulls away slightly then, her eyes meet Daenerys’ a grin on her face.

 

 

The sun was setting, they had talked for rather a long time, about what she had missed, about their plans for Baelish.

 

 

Thoughts of Baelish and treason were long forgotten now, as they lay tangled in Sansa's bed, furs covering their bare bodies. The light from the setting sun streams through the window, illuminating Sansa's face in a way that made her look almost like a goddess.

 

 

As if such a light exists that could be unflattering to her.

 

 

Sansa gently ghosts her fingers along Daenerys cheek.

 

 

“I'm glad you're back.” She whispers

 

 

Daenerys sighs happily, leaning into Sansa's touch.

 

 

“So am I darling.”

 

 

A blush colours Sansa’s cheeks and she moves forward, her lips brushing against Daenerys'.

 

 

Before Daenerys can take the kiss further Sansa pulls away, her fingers trailing down Daenerys face, until she reaches her shoulder.

 

 

Daenerys presses her forehead against Sansa's shoulder this time, as the woman’s fingers skate around her wound.

 

 

“Did it hurt?” Sansa asks softly, pressing her cheek against the side of Daenerys' head.

 

 

Daenerys swallows, weighing up her options. She could lie, it had been horrible and she didn’t want to frighten Sansa. The other woman chooses that moment to run her fingers up the caress the back of Daenerys’ neck, making her let out a shuddering breath at the soft sensation.

 

 

The gentle touch causes a warm feeling to wrap around Daenerys' heart. For a moment she doesn’t recognize it, she certainly doesn’t remember the last time she felt it.

 

 

Its safety, she thinks.

 

 

Daenerys takes the opportunity to burrow further into Sansa’s embrace, relishing the feeling for a moment.

 

 

Sansa squeezes her before pulling away slightly, shifting her position on the bed so they were lying face to face at eye level.

 

 

“Daenerys?” She whispers, reaching out to hold her hand.

 

 

She tries to blink the tears away.

 

 

“Yes.” She chokes out, her shoulder burning with the memory.

 

 

Concern flashes across Sansa's face and she squeezes her hand in reassurance.

 

 

“It was the most painful thing I think I’ve ever felt.” Daenerys continues, taking  a steadying breath. “But…”

 

 

She sighs.

 

 

“But what?” Sansa asks, her eyes never leaving Daenerys.

 

 

Those eyes that Daenerys was sure she could stare into for a thousand years. The stormy eyes that always left Daenerys defenseless, in a way that would terrify her, if it were anybody else.

 

 

“I could only think of you.” Daenerys whispers.

 

 

She watches as Sansa seems to swallow, her eyes moving to stare at their intertwined hands where they lay on the furs. There's a beat of silence where Sansa looks almost reflective.

 

 

Suddenly she moves forward, giving Daenerys a long deliberate kiss before pulling away slightly, ignoring the whine that leaves the other woman.

 

 

“You needn’t keep trying to seduce me with such sweet words your grace.” Sansa replies, a teasing smile on her face, only inches from Daenerys' own.

 

 

Daenerys lets out a laugh, presses her forehead against Sansa's , their noses bumping together.

 

 

“My heart bleeds at such an accusation my queen.” Daenerys giggles, feigning offence. “It’s the truth.” She continues, soberly. “I thought of the thousands of moments I would miss.”

 

 

Sansa stares at her then, a little awestruck by the omission. Daenerys takes the opportunity to turn over, rather petulantly, so she was lying on her back, slightly further from Sansa, staring at the ceiling. She let’s out a huff and pulls the furs up over the hips slightly.

 

 

“it’s rather pathetic isn’t it?” She mumbles, with a rather self deprecating laugh.

 

 

Sansa moves then, her fingers brushing over Daenerys' cheek.

 

 

“I don’t think it pathetic at all.” She replies. “Its lovely.”

 

 

Daenerys looks up at her through her thick eyelashes, seemingly terribly vulnerable, it was as though she had just opened her chest to Sansa.

 

 

Sansa frowns for a moment, remembering her conversation with Grey Worm and Missandei, Daenerys had always been open with Sansa; it was her turn to do that now. She had to be brave, to let her know how she really feels.

 

 

“I thought I was alone.” Sansa closes her eyes for a moment, letting out a puff of air. “I have my family, I love them more than words can express.” She continues. “But they don't understand, what happened to me, what I have to be now….”

 

 

Daenerys sits up then, her hand reaching out to cover Sansa's own, still caressing her cheek.

 

 

“I thought being queen would mean I had to be alone forever, that nobody would love me for more than the North.” Sansa presses on, ignoring the tears stinging her eyes. “Then I met you.”

 

 

A few stray tears trickle down Daenerys' face as she smiles softly.

 

 

“I think you give me far too much credit my queen.” She replies, hoping to make Sansa smile.

 

 

Instead she sees a few tears begin to stain Sansa's own cheeks, her head shaking softly.

 

 

“No.” She whispers. “I believe I give you the perfect amount of credit.”

 

 

“Anything I have  given you, you have returned ten fold to me darling.”

 

 

Sansa does let out a laugh then, the sound melodic.

 

 

“You awoke something in me that I thought long dead.” Sansa says, her thumb swiping a tear from Daenerys' cheek. “And I know what this means, that this will be difficult, but for once…” she pauses. “I do believe you are more than worth the risk Daenerys.”

 

 

The women meet then, for another searing kiss, and for a few moments the only sound in their breathing and the crackling of the fire. They pull apart, both looking rather flushed, breathing heavily and grinning wildly at each other. Sansa trails her hand down Daenerys’ body to rest on her bare hip.

 

 

Daenerys's smile lessens, just slightly.

 

 

“You know what has to happen next darling.” She whispers, leaning into Sansa, relishing her feather light touch. “And I know what he has taken from you, but if you do not wish to have this burden I will gladly take it from you.”

 

 

Sansa sighs, moving to lie down, facing Daenerys, covering them both with the scattered furs before she began to draw patterns on her hip with her fingertips.

 

 

She had thought about this, debated with Arya, Jon and herself. They had to be the ones, the ones to end this, the ones to stop Baelish hurting anybody else.

 

 

He who passes the sentence must swing the sword.

 

 

“This is my burden to bare.” Sansa stresses. “My family's responsibility.”

 

 

Daenerys nods thoughtfully, having anticipated such a response.

 

 

“But I feel much better, knowing I have you.” Sansa continues, moving to press a kiss against Daenerys' jaw.

 

 

Daenerys’ hand moves to cradle the back of Sansa’s neck, playing with the hairs there.

 

 

“Just as you always will.” She smiles. “But darling, even after this, with Baelish gone, it won’t be easy.”

 

 

Daenerys loathed to sour the mood, to break the euphoria that had encased them, but she couldn't let this fear fester. They'd been through enough of skating around their feelings.

 

 

“I know.” Sansa replies, surprisingly composed. “But we will survive that too.”

 

 

Daenerys isn’t sure she's heard Sansa be so sure of anything, it makes her want to laugh with joy for a moment.

 

 

“Bastian will not be the last suitor.” Daenerys reminds her, not quite sure why she's talking about this, when Sansa seems so content.

 

 

Sansa gives her a measuring look, Daenerys recognizes it as the expression she often gets before she says something rather clever.

 

 

“Do you want him to be?” She asks, her expression unwavering in its softness, leaving Daenerys with no room for worry.

 

 

“I do not wish to marry anyone.” She replies honestly. “Not when I have this with you.”

 

 

Sansa hums and nods.

 

 

“Then don’t.” She says plainly.

 

 

“Sansa.” Daenerys begins.

 

 

“Daenerys.” She retorts playfully.

 

 

“Tyrion was rather forceful with this particular piece of advice.” Daenerys explains.

 

 

“Your hand is very clever.” Sansa starts. “But I believe you underestimate yourself.”

 

 

Daenerys sighs.

 

 

“I spoke with Missandei, while you were away.” Sansa continues. “She said the people are rather taken with you.”

 

 

Daenerys moves her hand to gentle stroke Sansa's bare back, enjoying the contented hum that Sansa let’s out while she contemplates this.

 

 

“I'm still a foreign queen to them.”

 

 

“A foreign queen born in Westeros, with a Lannister for a hand and one of the most comprehensive far reaching small councils the realm has seen.”

 

 

Daenerys frowns, thinking this over. It was true, she had ambassadors from every kingdom, had constant relations with Dorne, the North and the Iron Islands. There were talks of further devolved powers, elected officials. She had positioned herself with the best advisors, she had made sure she understood every part of her kingdoms and their neighbors.

 

 

“You do not think I need a husband?” Daenerys seeks to clarify.

 

 

Sansa shrugs.

 

 

“I do not think you want one.” She says. “And there seems to be no real call for you to have one, I think Tyrion is being overly cautious."

 

 

“And if there comes a time where there is a need?” Daenerys inquires.

 

 

“Then we will deal with that too, the world may do what it wishes to us.” Sansa replies, before cupping Daenerys's face in her hands softly. “But I am yours, and you are mine, in all the ways that matter.”

 

 

 Sansa lets out a small laugh, her eyes open and soft as she gazed at Daenerys. 

 

 

"Despite my protests, and we both know there were many." Sansa begins. "I'm afraid I've fallen painstakingly in love with you Daenerys." She lets out a breath, just as Daenerys lets out a small gasp at the confession. "I could no more stop feeling that than I could stop breathing." 

 

 

Daenerys swallows thickly, knowing in any other sitaution she would tease the other woman for her dramatics, but in her heart she knew she felt it too.

 

 

"I love you Sansa Stark, it will always be you." Daenerys breathes.

 

 

"It's decided then." Sansa whispers, a grin on her face.

 

 

Their lips collide again, finding a rhythm that felt so natural now, as if their bodies were made for each other, basking in the peace they had made.


	25. The Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year!
> 
> I'm alive! Sorry this has taken so long; I've rewritten this chapter a lot, got frustrated with my own past writing choices and felt like I lifted too much from the show.
> 
> But nothing is ever perfect and the final (next) chapter has some of my favourite stuff that inspired the whole fic so that should hopefully be up soon too! 
> 
> Shoutout to all the lovely people that kept commenting and sending me wishes of inspiration; it really helped! 
> 
> Disclaimer: some of this dialogue is from the show so the credit for that goes to the writers of GoT.

Daenerys shifts in her seat slightly, her eyes scanning the Great Hall that was littered with nobles, trying not to show her own nervousness. The left side of the room was full of nobles and knights from the Vale and the Reach, she recognized only a handful of them as their own eyes darted around the room as if they couldn’t quite figure out why they had been gathered. Amongst them stood Yohn Royce; Sansa had told him, from what Daenerys understood, the man sends them a meaningful look and a nod.  

 

 

The Northern lords took up much of the right side of the room, Daenerys was sure they didn't know much more than those from the South, but they seemed much more at ease at being called by their queen. Arya stood at the head of them, closest to the grand table, her hand continues to ghost over her dagger, seemingly ensuring it is still there.  

 

 

Daenerys leans back in her chair at the grand table, she glances at Sansa, who sat at her left, the two queens placed at centre of the table, with Bran, in his newly built chair on his sister's left.  Missandei sat safely, on Daenerys’ right, Grey Worm stood behind them both, his posture rigid, spear in hand. Three more unsullied stand at the side door, Brienne and Podrick flank the main entrance. Her nephew stands behind his siblings, a look of slight discomfort on his face.  

 

 

Perhaps the most intimidating presence is Jon's direwolf Ghost, who sat in front of the table, between the Stark siblings, baring his teeth at the crowd, Daenerys could hear his low growl.  

 

 

What a show, for just one man.  

 

 

The dragon queen observes Sansa's side profile for a moment, her jaw clenched, a neutral expression on her face. She itches to reach out and take her hand; instead her fingers brush over the fur shawl that was wrapped tightly around her shoulders. The same shawl Sansa had given her, what felt like a thousand years ago.  

 

 

The doors to the main entrance open and Daenerys sits straighter, her face a mask of neutrality, her eyes fixed to the back of the room.  

 

 

It’s clear immediately that Baelish had not expected such a crowd, he stops dead in his tracks, only three steps into the room, his eyes widening slightly. Bastian, at his side, also stops, looking more confused than anything else. Daenerys tries not the feel guilty about the man, who had just a day ago excitedly asked for her hand in marriage.  

 

 

He had a pardon, they had all discussed that. He wasn't a threat, in fact, Daenerys is sure he is simply rather stupid. Easy to manipulate by Baelish, she supposed, but didn’t have the ambition.  

 

 

“Your Grace, I did not expect our announcement to draw such a crowd.” Baelish says, looking at Sansa.  

 

 

Brienne and Podrick seal the door with a heavy clunk and Daenerys is sure she sees the man flinch.  

 

 

“It is quite the event my Lord.” Sansa replies curtly. “A milestone of spring .”  

 

 

Daenerys tries not to smirk at that.  

 

 

“Lord Baelish.” Daenerys cuts in. “I must extend my sincere gratitude to you, your devotion to the crown has been truly  inspirational.”  

 

 

Baelish sends her a sickly smile. 

 

 

“I live to serve my queen, your grace.” He replies.  

 

 

Daenerys tilts her head to the side, allowing a confused look to overtake her features.  

 

 

The man liked this game, this theatre, so she would give him a show.  

 

 

“Hm.” She lets out. “But which queen would that be?”  

 

 

The man let’s out a breath, his eyes scanning the room again, Daenerys narrows her eyes, trying to see whether he was pleased his plan was working.  

 

 

Before he can speak Daenerys continues.  

 

 

“Across the narrow sea, the people used to call me mhysa, do you know what that means my lord?”  

 

 

Bastian sends her a confused look this time and Baelish's eyes narrow. 

 

 

“I'm afraid I do not your grace.” Baelish’s jaw was clenched, Daenerys wonders if they truly did understand his plan.  

 

 

“It means mother, it was a title I wore with pride, one I took to heart.” Daenerys explains. “I took it with me here, I vowed to protect people, from the highest lords to the lowest born. I swore to myself that the legacy of Daenerys Targaryen would be one of safety.”  

 

 

Baelish seems to swallow thickly and nods.  

 

 

He was quite the performer.  

 

 

“I do not always get this right.” Daenerys admits. “But we must endeavor to do better today than we did yesterday.”   

 

 

She's vaguely aware of Sansa and Arya's eyes snapping towards her, at those words. She had meant what she told Sansa; Catelyn Stark was a wise woman.  

 

 

“Your rule has been just your grace.” Bastian speaks then and Daenerys sends him a smile she is sure is laced with pity.  

 

 

“I do not like to be made a fool of my lord, nor do I like knowing that the nobles are taking advantage of those who do not have the power to defend themselves.” Daenerys says, her eyes on Baelish, standing as she speaks.  

 

 

The unsullied open the side doors then, two more unsullied enter, between them stand two individuals, the first was a woman, with fair hair and pale skin that looked far too skinny for Daenerys' liking. The second, was a battered man, who stood rigid and proud, an angry expression set on his face that was marred with cuts and bruises. He too, did not look overly well fed, Daenerys knew this was for vastly different reasons however.  

 

 

Both Baelish and Bastian looked unnerved by the new arrivals as the unsullied resealed the door.  

 

 

“I invited some lords of the Vale, as I thought it quite odd that you did not wish to yourself.” Daenerys continues, walking around until she was stood in front of the table, near the newest arrivals.  

 

 

Lord Royce steps forward then, sending Baelish a cold glare.  

 

 

“I wished to know more about the man who was set to propose to me, imagine my surprise when not only did Queen Sansa have no recollection of the boy, but the head of house Arryn had never seen him before either.”  

 

 

The men did look remarkably similar, so much so that Lord Royce had been rather unsure at coming forward with his suspicions. The real Bastian was a distant cousin, who had rarely been seen around court. But with all their suspicions Daenerys had sent information to Tyrion, to investigate around the Vale.  

 

 

“Your grace…” Bastian begins.  

 

 

“And then, I discovered that there was a Bastian Redfort, but that is not you, is it?” Daenerys softens her voice slightly, reminding herself that this boy was a much a victim of this as anyone.  

 

 

Bastian, or rather, not Bastian, opens his mouth before snapping it shut.  

 

 

“This is ridiculous.” Baelish spits, grabbing the boy's arm.  

 

 

“I thought so too.” Daenerys admits. “Then I met Talisa.” She gestures to the woman as she speaks. “Who said that this man, is from Highgarden, not the Vale.” 

 

 

Daenerys turns to send the woman a reassuring smile, she had the protection of the crown now, both of them. The risk was great, she knew that, but the woman had insisted on testifying, had sought out Podrick again. Daenerys thinks they had all underestimated the hold Baelish had on his workers. She was glad that would end today too.  

 

 

Daenerys steps closer to Baelish. 

 

 

“I wrote to my lord hand, who sent some scouts to the Vale, where they met Lord Royce and found the real Bastian chained, in house Redfort.”  

 

 

The man that stood with the unsullied scowled. Yes, the real Bastian had been rather angry and it was clear then that Baelish had wanted them to find him. 

 

 

“Why don't we try this again.” Daenerys turns. “I'm Daenerys, who might you be?”  

 

 

The boy with Baelish shuffles awkwardly.  

 

 

“Thomas, your grace.” He whispers, looking rather afraid.  

 

 

“Hello Thomas.” Daenerys replies. “You needn't worry, nobody is going to hurt you.”  

 

 

The man seems to breathe a sigh of relief and Daenerys wonders how he can still remain so trusting.  

 

 

“Do you believe me a fool  Lord Baelish?” She speaks again.  

 

 

The man remains silent and seems to cast Sansa a desperate look.  

 

 

How terribly predictable men were sometimes.  

 

 

“You locked the real Bastian Redfort away and mascaraed Thomas as him in an attempt to manipulate and destroy the crown.” Daenerys accuses. “How do you respond to this?”  

 

 

Baelish swallows.  

 

 

Using Sansa against her had been his mistake. It became all the more personal then. She wanted to tell him as much, wanted more than anything to grab him by the throat and make sure he knew that he should have not tried to use her lady against her.  

 

 

She didn't.  

 

 

“I did it for the North.” Baelish responds, clearly realising Daenerys could not be manipulated into disbelieving the facts placed in front of them.  

 

 

Daenerys raises an eyebrow, having fully expected such a defense.  

 

 

“Your Queen.” Daenerys replies, a small sinister smile on her face she hopes could rival Arya’s.  

 

 

“The deserving queen.” Baelish scowls. “The just queen, who does not burn her enemies.”  

 

 

Daenerys positions herself in front of the man, looking up at him distastefully.  

 

 

“You admit to these charges Lord Baelish?” She clarifies.  

 

 

“I admit to serving my Queen.” He spits.  

 

 

This was a dangerous game, Baelish was knowingly risking war, implicating Sansa in such a way.  It only served to make Daenerys angrier. Sansa had been right to be unsure; from Daenerys’ understanding the man never put himself in such danger, the risk was almost brazen. Even the most patient man in the world would reach his limits she supposed. 

 

 

“You have committed treason.” She says, signaling with her hand for the unsullied to step forward, pushing Thomas out of the way to surround Baelish. “You knowingly deceived the crown, you endangered not only me, but Thomas. ” She pauses, just as Drogon roars outside.  

 

 

This is not her justice to take, but she enjoys the way the man squirmed as he waited for Sansa to step in.  

 

 

How incredibly sad, he considered himself so powerful, but now his life hung in the balance of the women he had rendered powerless so many times.  

 

 

“You are exiled by the crown.” She finishes, suppressing a grin at the confusion that sweeps the room and the man in front of her. “You are unwelcome in my kingdom, you are unwelcome in Dorne and the Iron Islands that stand by my decision.”  

 

 

“Your grace…” Thomas tries to interrupt on Baelish's behalf.  

 

 

Baelish seems unmoved, clearly noting the absence of the North in her speech, as they hoped he would.  

 

 

“Queen Sansa, in her kindness and grace has extended the hand of friendship to you Lord Baelish, you should think yourself lucky she could plead on your behalf.” 

 

 

Daenerys turns, her eyes locking onto Sansa's, forcing down the smile that always overtakes her face when she sees the woman.  

 

 

“You know what this means your grace, are you certain this is what you want?” Daenerys asks.  

 

 

She wonders if Baelish would have really taken them all to war for this, or whether he was so certain Daenerys would fall before it came to that, she’s quite sure he would have.  

 

 

“It is not about what I want, it is what honor demands.” Sansa replies, her fingers running over the wood of her throne.  

 

 

Daenerys steps forward, fighting the urge to touch the furs on her shoulder softly.  

 

 

“And what does honor demand?”  

 

 

The air in the room suddenly gets very still and Daenerys can feel the men on both sides tense, clearly believing this would lead to war. They had to be careful now, to ensure nobody hits first. Arya and Lord Royce remain calm on their opposing ends, she believes that will help them keep the peace until the women's true motives are clear.  

 

 

“That I protect my family from those who would harm us, that I would defend the North from those who would betray us.”  

 

 

Daenerys sighs, continuing their little act.  

 

 

“Then do it.” She says.  

 

 

They hold eye contact for a moment longer, an intense stare that seems to raise the tension in the room even more.  

 

 

Sansa stands then and Daenerys steps to the side, ignoring the look Baelish sends her.  

 

 

“You stand accused of murder; you stand accused of treason.” Sansa recites. “How do you answer these charges, Lord Baelish?”  

 

 

Daenerys does smirk then, just a little as she walks back around the table, to take her seat. She watches, satisfied at the confused look on the man's face.  

 

 

There's a few beats of silence and Arya moves forward slightly.  

 

 

“My sister asked you a question.” She says, her voice hard, but with a hint of amusement in it.  

 

 

“Queen Sansa, forgive me, I’m a little confused.” Baelish replies.  

 

 

“Which of the charges confuse you?” Sansa responds in that tone that always made Daenerys' heart beat a little faster in her chest. “Let’s start with the simplest one, you murdered our Aunt Lysa Arryn, you threw her through the moon door, do you deny it?”  

 

 

Baelish flinches, just slightly.  

 

 

“I did that to protect you.” He fires back.  

 

 

“You did it to take power in the Vale.” Sansa retorts. “Earlier, you conspired to murder Jon Arryn, you gave our aunt tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?”  

 

 

“Whatever your aunt told you, she wasn't a well woman, she imagined enemies everywhere.” Baelish says, pacing the room now.  

 

 

“You had our aunt send a letter to our parents telling them the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn when really it was you. The conflict between the Starks and the Lannisters, it was you who started it. Do you deny it?”  

 

 

“I know of no such letter.” Baelish defends and Daenerys resists the urge to roll her eyes.  

 

 

“You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray our father Ned Stark, thanks to your treachery he was later imprisoned and executed on false charges of treason. Do you deny it?”  

 

 

The man's breaths seem to come a little heavier now, as his frustrations rise, Daenerys tenses slightly. Luckily Ghost seems just as put off, and lets out a menacing growl.  

 

 

“I deny it.” Baelish shouts, losing any control of the situation. “None of you were there to see what happened.”  

 

 

“You held a knife to his throat, you said I did warn you not to trust me.” Bran interjects, his voice sending a chill down Daenerys.  

 

 

Arya smirks, pulling the knife out from her waist. 

 

 

“You told our father this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister, but that was another one of your lies.” The woman says. “It was yours.”  

 

 

The man strides forward then, towards Sansa, Daenerys clenches her jaw as only a table stood between them. 

 

 

“Sansa, please, I have known you since you were a girl, I have protected you.” He pleads.  

 

 

Sansa scoffs then.  

 

 

 “Protected me? By selling me to the Boltons, by seeking to turn me against my sister? By implicating me in a plot to harm Daenerys that could start a war between the North and South?” she spits, distastefully.  

 

 

His hands come to rest on the table, in front of Sansa. Ghost growls again, making the man remove his hands.  

 

 

“If we could simply speak alone.” His eyes dart to Daenerys as he speaks. “I can explain everything.”  

 

 

“Sometimes when I want to understand a person's motives, I like to play a little game.” Sansa begins and the man flinches again. “What is the worst reason you have for wanting to turn me against my sister? The worst reason you could wish to bring Thomas to Daenerys.” Sansa's own hands rest on the table now, as she leans forward. “That's what you do isn't it? Turn family against family.”  

 

 

It was an intimidating picture, Sansa's voice had lower menacingly and the tension in the room could be cut with a knife.  

 

 

“Sansa please.” Baelish begs.  

 

 

“I'm a slow learner, it’s true.” Sansa continues, ignoring the man's pleas. “But I learn.”  

 

 

“I deserve a chance to defend myself.” The man steps back now, surveying the room.  

 

 

Sansa pauses, and waits for the defense to come. It never does and Baelish strides towards Lord Royce.  

 

 

“I am lord protector of the Vale and I demand your escort me safely back to the Eyrie.”  

 

 

Daenerys tries not to grin at seeing him squirm.  

 

 

“I think not.” The man grits out.  

 

 

Baelish looks almost wild then, as he drops in front of the table, clasping his hands together.  

 

 

“Sansa please, I beg you, I’ve loved your mother since I was a boy.” He tries.  

 

 

“And yet you betrayed her.” Sansa retorts, unmoved.  

 

 

“I loved you, more than anyone.”  

 

 

Daenerys' hands grip the arms of her chair tightly, uncomfortable at how much he reminded her of Viserys in that moment.  

 

 

 _“Dany Please!”_ Viserys’ voice echoes in her head and she fights the urge to shake it away. Show them no weakness. 

 

 

“And yet you betrayed me.” Sansa closes her eyes for a moment, before continuing. “When you brought me back to Winterfell you said there was no justice in the world, not unless we make it. Thank you for your many lessons Lord Baelish, I will never forget them."  

 

 

Jon steps forward then his footsteps echoing around the room.  

 

 

“Lord Baelish, you are charged with treason and murder, you have admitted to these crimes. The punishment for both, is death.” A frown is etched onto his features as he speaks, his hand flexing around the hilt of his sword.  

 

 

“I, Sansa of House Stark, First of my name, Queen of the North, protector of innocents, the red wolf and queen of Winter, sentence you to die.”  

 

 

“Sans-" is all the man manages to get out before Arya has moved swiftly forward and sliced the man's neck with the knife that had remained in her hands.  

 

 

The man sputters as he chokes on his own blood, before slumping forward, his body hitting the floor with a dull thump , his blood coating the stones.  

 

 

Sansa turns and locks eyes with Daenerys, she has to fight down a sigh of relief as she sit back down, Daenerys slowly covers her hand with her own, no longer caring how it may appear.  

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this meant I got to watch the LF death scene like 10 times; would recommend.


End file.
